F l a s h l i g h t
by LolliliciousLolly
Summary: Nathan Blake. Robin Lawrence. Charles Austin. Bart Ford. Four boys, all dead. A violently haunted exboarding school. A fire in 1969. A man named Cole to run from. A mystery to be solved...and a love to be determined. Busy, aren't we Suze? [FINISHED]
1. Starbucks

A/N: Well, well, well, lookee what we did. This is NiceHayley here, coming to present a little surprise that Lolly and I have been cooking up this past week. I remember it like it was just this Monday...okay, it WAS this Monday, but whatever...Well, anyway, we were just chatting away, and Lolly brought up that she heard Twilight was gonna be Meg's last book. And I wasn't surprised...so I asked her, "Where can it go?" Lolly persisted that it could go far...and she suggested that they could make a ghost-busting team. So we tossed the idea around...and POOF! Well, when I say tossed the idea...it was basically Lolly (being the lovely genius she is) spouted these way cool ideas, and I just went with them! So, are we ready Lolly?  
  
Presenting...Flashlight...  
  
Lolly – Aw, Hayley, stop it . . . I'm blushing . . . nah, kidding. Um, yeah. I hope you like this.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The Mediator does not belong to us. It belongs to God – um . . . You know, Meg? Her. All the characters that you recognize do. The ones that you don't are property of Hayley and Lolly. Yeah . . . beat THAT.  
  
. . . Sorry. Just tired.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
"23rd June 2009.  
  
Dear Ms. Susannah Simon,  
  
Some memories last only a few years, but there are some that last a whole lifetime. With that said, I would like to invite you, on behalf of the Faculty and Staff at the Junipero Serra Mission Academy, to the five-year reunion of the class of '04. This would be a great opportunity to renew acquaintances, rehash some old memories, and chat with your former educators.  
  
As your classmates so honored you by voting you Vice President your sophomore, junior, and senior classes, so would we also like to honor you by requesting that you give a speech in front of your former classmates.  
  
The reunion will be held in the Mission's beautiful courtyard on Saturday July 10th from 6:00 p.m. until 11:00 p.m. that evening. Dinner will be provided along with music, dancing, and a wonderful celebration of old friends and new memories.  
  
We will enjoy seeing there, and wish you safe traveling.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Sister Ernestine S.S.N.D."  
  
. . .  
  
. . . Oh.  
  
Sheesh, you'd think I'd have something more exciting to say than "Oh", wouldn't you? I mean, after receiving a letter from one of my old Hitlers . . . um, teachers, you think that I would be thrilled at the idea of seeing that beautiful Mission again, after these five long years since graduating from Junipero Serra, right?  
  
Well, I wasn't.  
  
In fact, I hated the idea.  
  
So I had already decided, there and then, that I was SO not going.  
  
Oh God . . . This stupid invitation – no, DEMAND, it couldn't have come at a worse time. I mean, you'd think that that greater being out there, whoever or whatever it is, would have some sympathy on a poor little Boston College gal who was at the decrescendo of her bloody life, right?  
  
But noooo. Can't let the old memories stay buried, can we?  
  
. . . Stupid greater being.  
  
Well, it was already settled, in a record of three seconds subsequent to finishing the letter. I was staying put. I wasn't going all the way back to Carmel, to have to relive everything all over again. I wasn't going to open the scars that had taken so long to heal. Some of which never would heal . . .  
  
What is the point of a reunion? Just for all the pretty people of the class to have a little check up on how shitty everyone else's lives are going excluding their own? Just to make sure that they are still on top, despite the years that have passed? Making sure that their success is still at its peak, and kicking everybody down who tries to climb up the ladder of life? Because that's all these crappy reunions were. A chance to mock the lesser mortals that graduated into a world of closed doors.  
  
This whole stupid gathering...it was all about expectations. When we graduated, everyone expected the beginning of a new life. And even though it would be hard, everyone expected to get out alive and well. Our teachers had told us how much promise we had deep, deep inside. They expected us to do well in our new life outside of high school.  
  
But what would my teachers say about me now, hmm? I couldn't live up to their expectations...I couldn't even make the one person I...nevermind. God...  
  
Oh...I'm sorry, allow me to introduce myself.  
  
Hi, I'm no one. That's right. Keep walking, nothing to see here. But yeah, look a little closer, and you'll find Susannah Simon. Me. Blah blah, ex- Junipero Serra Mission scholar, now college student, blah, three step brothers, one stalker, shitty life, can speak to ghosts, and I've finally managed to grow my brunette hair past my elbows, after so many years of –  
  
. . . Why'd you stop me? Oh, yeah. The ghost thing.  
  
Yep, that's me. Suze Simon. I'm what the more open-minded people call a "shifter." I can converse with, touch, smell, and annoy the shit out of the undead. You know, ghosts? Spooks, ghouls, what not? Yeah. That and being able to cross between the physical and the astral plane. And a whole bunch of other tid bits that will really freak you out if you don't have a very strong sedative handy. Go me, right? You don't have to tell me, I already know. I'm a freak of humanity. I have these weird supernatural powers that makes me just that bit different from everyone else.  
  
And not in such a hot way.  
  
You see, despite the fact that I have the uncanny ability to contact spirits, I'm, at the current time, a slightly hapless breed of loser. The fact that I am a liaison between the bad-breathed and the no-breathed, well, it hasn't really helped me in my career. Like I said, my life is no neck-and-back-massage. I take the phrase "It's not always rainbow and butterflies" to new heights. Lately, all I've been seeing is blue and grey. That's my world. One big disappointment after another . . .  
  
I glanced at the letter again, rereading the professional, impersonal words of the Miss Trunchbull of my schooldays. No matter what she said, Sister Ernestine didn't give a rat's ass if I showed at this joke of a reunion or not. No one would . . . except maybe Father Dom. But definitely not Jes –  
  
. . . Nope.  
  
No one would care.  
  
No one.  
  
For God's sake, this STUPID letter! It was just dragging back up all of the things I thought I'd left behind in Carmel five years ago! All the skeletons in my stupid, brand-name closet. I didn't want to have to think about all those things that had happened in my past, I just wanted to look ahead adamantly.  
  
But Sister Ernestine thought otherwise, obviously.  
  
I SO couldn't go to the stupid highschool reunion. How corny was that, anyway? Sounded like something out of a one-star movie. Highschool reunion indeed . . . what, with the little origami napkins and the antique copies of the year book and the big banners saying "CLASS OF '04, WELCOME!" and the old teachers with now little or no hair, or three extra chins? Um, no thank you. I'm just not the reunion type o' gal, you know?  
  
Hell, I'm no one's type o' gal.  
  
I sighed as the whirlwind of thoughts started to spin faster and faster, drawing me in ever closer to that past that I'd been trying to escape for five years. Well, physically, I'd ran away long ago. But mentally, I was still running. And now, I felt like someone was dragging me back as I was kicking and screaming. Carmel was home to too many memories. I wanted them to remain forgotten and neglected, not revisit them.  
  
So going back was the last thing on my mind, especially after what happened between me and –  
  
No.  
  
Nothing. Nothing happened. Just . . .  
  
Nothing.  
  
There wasn't a thing in this damned psycho world that would make me haul my cute little ass back to that pine-tree central. No matter how much life sucked here, I wouldn't even dream of going back to a place that launched this tragic existence.  
  
I was going to Boston College, in Boston Massachusetts. I know, it was ages away from Carmel. Oh, did I know it. Trust me, I totally wanted to go to NoCal, but I got on the stupid waiting list . . . That was where the shit first hit the fan -  
  
'SIMON! ARE YOU SLACKING OFF AGAIN?!'  
  
I jumped in alarm. Shit! He'd seen me!  
  
'Um, no, Mr Lowe, I was just – '  
  
'Simon, I'm warning you . . . ' Mr Lowe marched up to me, his stature mean and his glower meaner, 'You continue this blooming laziness, and you're on the street. I'm almost at wits end, trying to make this a functioning workplace, and we have you, Simon, sitting on your ass during peak hour!'  
  
I blinked. 'Look, I was only reading my mail because I was in a rush this morning and –'  
  
'GET TO WORK!' he roared.  
  
'Okay,' I squeaked, and bounced from the room that I'd been hiding in – the staff loo. Grimy little thing it was, too. I swear, if one more person missed the toilet bowl when they pissed, the WC go on strike or something. It was gross. It stank to high heaven, and it hadn't been cleaned since the old king died. Major "EW" factor there.  
  
Well, at least Mr Lowe hadn't decided to leave me to clean this grimy, smelly mess. But the idea wouldn't surprise me anyway.  
  
Mr. Lowe, or as I'd like to call him Mr. Low on Patience, is my extremely over-bearing boss. I can never do anything right around this guy. Not that I have. Done anything right, I mean. Not since I left Carmel and flew to this hell-hole.  
  
This stinky hell-hole...  
  
In a daze, I stumbled out to one of the dirty tables, and instantly, my face paled as I saw who was waiting for me.  
  
'Hi Suze,' Cole nodded at me.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Starbucks.  
  
Yeah, that's where I worked.  
  
I know! Look, I REALLY know. It's the pits, for me. It's like, the lowest I can get, right? Aside from being homeless, I mean. Selling coffee, wiping tables, mopping floors, cleaning mugs . . . it doesn't get any worse than this. But seriously, I was FORCED to take this job. I needed cash, and fast. I had to keep paying the rent on my apartment, hole that it was. I refused to let Mom or Andy chip in. They didn't even know where I lived. Sure, they knew my cell phone number, but that was it. I was like, this total disappointment to my mother now. We hardly talked anymore. And I wanted it to stay that way, for the time being. Don't get me wrong, I loved her unconditionally. Just . . . I felt like I wasn't a good enough daughter for her yet . . . I didn't want her to know how deep I was in this trouble. That I was running low on money, and stuff, and all these guy problems.  
  
Cole Kennedy being the prime problem, at the moment.  
  
'Go away,' I snapped at him. I stood there, before this tall, blond haired and totally hot guy. But he wasn't nearly as attractive as he'd seemed before all of this had began. 'I'm working.'  
  
'Hey, I'm a paying customer,' he simpered haughtily, showing me a dollar bill. It was held casually in his large, tendon-lined hand. 'I want a coffee.'  
  
'Tamara?' I yelled to a short, plump woman at the cash register, 'This guy wants a coffee. Serve him.'  
  
'You serve him, Simon,' she snapped at me, 'I'm busy.'  
  
I pursed my lips and glared at her, and then turned back to Cole. He was smiling at me, looking totally arrogant and smug way. Bloody asshole . . . Thought he was God's gift to women.  
  
Well, most women would agree with me when I say he's hott. He was tall at six-five, and incredibly strong. You could even go as far as to say he had muscles in his teeth. His incredibly light blonde hair that swept ever so slightly in his face made him irresistible. I guess that was where it all went wrong...  
  
Yeah...we'd gone out, and stuff, but you could say it ended badly.  
  
Really badly.  
  
As in, me saying no, him pushing, me slapping, him fooling with Cassidy Hilton, and me dumping.  
  
Fun for all the family . . .  
  
Only, now he was kind of, you know, stalking me or something. It was totally freaky. He was partly the reason why I tried to spend most of my time in the kitchen, rather than serve up-front. He had almost all of the same classes as me in college, and so he was free when I was. Which meant he spent most of his unoccupied time, well, here.  
  
Trying to get me back.  
  
It was kind of scary, in a way.  
  
I turned and went to walk away, but his hand shot out to the cord at the back of my green apron, and he yanked me back. I squeaked a little, but didn't draw as much attention as you'd think – our coffee shop is pretty busy at two in the afternoon, for some unfathomable reason. I fell into the lounge beside him. Further to this, he placed his hand over my lap so I wouldn't move. I felt my heart quicken a little. As much as nothing scares me anymore, well . . . Cole did.  
  
'Look,' I hissed at him, shoving his hand away from me, 'I already told you, you've got to get over it. Get out of here. Get out of my life. You're driving me mad, you bastard. I'm sick to death of seeing you every – '  
  
'Suze,' he smiled at me, showing me his very white – and pointy, even – teeth. His hand moved over mine. My heart pumped even faster. No, not because I was feeling anything affectionate or whatever. I was just, well, scared . . . 'Come on. I'm sorry about what happened. I was pushy, I know. I won't be like that again, I swear.'  
  
'You shoved me against a wall, Cole,' I said flatly, not looking at him. 'I didn't want to, and you called me a – '  
  
'God, I said I was sorry!' he snapped, tugging my hand so I'd look at him. I turned my head. He had a hard nose, and grey eyes. They had once been so wonderful, so open to me. Now they were cold, and hard.  
  
Another attempt to get over . . . um, someone. That's all he'd been. An attempt. A wasted attempt.  
  
Now I was dealing with the aftermath of this attempt.  
  
Good God . . . was he serious? He thought that all would be well with a "I said I was sorry!" trick? What PLANET was this guy from?  
  
'Yeah, well sorry isn't good enough. And I loved how you apologized right after that, when I walked in and found you giving Ms Hilton a French lesson,' I retorted back.  
  
There's only so many times a guy can mess up and say he's sorry, you know? And after they've crossed that line...you begin to realize that they'll never change. Cole was no exception to this.  
  
Cole frowned a bit. Unfortunately, he still managed to look good, even frowning. He opened his mouth to say something...probably to apologize again. Well, I wasn't going to let him.  
  
'Go find some other skank to lay, Cole. I'm not that type of girl. I have standards.'  
  
'You bitch . . . ' he breathed at me, yanking my hand again so my face was right in front of his. 'Are you saying I'm not good enough for you? Are you?'  
  
I raised my eyebrows coolly. 'That's exactly what I'm saying.'  
  
That was when his hand squeezed mine so hard, I almost cried out. His fingers were crushing mine. I stifled a yell, and tried to jerk away from him, but he didn't want me going anywhere, as he proved by holding me down. Me heart was almost popping it's blood vessels 'bout then. He brought his lips right beside my hair.  
  
'I'm better than you, you dumb whore,' he said in an aggressive whisper into my ear. 'And the customer's always right, Suze. Now go get me a frigging coffee. Then you're coming home with me.'  
  
I winced, bowing my head so he wouldn't see my face. You think someone, ANYONE, would notice that this guy was threatening me, right? But again, you obviously haven't seen Starbucks at a peak hour.  
  
'I'm not a whore,' I retorted in a low, hurt voice, flicking my hair back with as much dignity as I could gather. 'I'm the opposite of that. I just don't want to waste myself on something as pathetic as you –'  
  
SLAP.  
  
My hand shot to my face in alarm. He did not just – he just – did Cole Kennedy just SLAP me?  
  
I totally pushed myself off the lounge that we were sharing, and stumbled back to the counter.  
  
'Suze! Suze, come on, I'm sorry, you got me mad and I – SUZE!' he was yelling, but I didn't stop.  
  
There he went again...trying to blame all of this on me. I got him mad. I wasn't giving him what he needed.  
  
I'd had enough. Of this dumb job, of seeing his dumb face every dumb day of the dumb freaking WEEK.  
  
My throat all choked up, and my hands kind of shaky, I ran to the storeroom, and ripped off the stupid green apron, throwing it against the stacked boxes, all printed with the Starbucks logo. I think I slid down the wall or something then, just . . .  
  
Okay, I was crying. I KNOW, crying is the WORST and it is POINTLESS and STUPID and very, very, very WET.  
  
I HATE CRYING.  
  
. . . I seemed to be crying a lot more often lately.  
  
But never as hard as this . . . not since Je –  
  
Nothing.  
  
My whole body was shaking, and I – I didn't understand – why . . . It was weird and my body was aching and my face was all screwed up and OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO WEAR WATER PROOF MASCARA.  
  
Pity . . .  
  
My fingertips were cold on my clammy, damp face, and everything existed in a swirl of blue and grey. I wasn't angry, but I just felt so . . .  
  
. . . So alone.  
  
And to think, if I hadn't have been so STUPID, I wouldn't have had to be so alone here . . . maybe it was my fault? Had I done something wrong that made him hate me? Did I do something that made him not want to come with me? Was it because of Paul? Was that why Jesse had said that we could never –  
  
. . . NOTHING.  
  
I take the fifth!  
  
Shut up. That was all just, um, emotional psycho babble. Ignore it. It didn't mean anything. Jesse . . . is someone from my past. That's all. No one special. Let's not bring him up again.  
  
Stupid hot Latino gentlemen who thought he was SO –  
  
SUZE!!  
  
I tried to slow my breathing. Tried to make it even, and not so sharp, and make it not hurt so much. But it didn't matter what I did. It would always hurt. It was always there. It never went away. It would always haunt me, the pain of knowing that it might have been different if maybe I would have done something different that –  
  
Whoa. And to think I was talking about breathing at the start there . . .  
  
But this was my life. No matter how hard I tried to dream of something else, I'd always drown in my fantasies and find myself back here again. In this hell. This blue, grey hell. Which stank of coffee . . .  
  
I couldn't quit my job. I knew it. I wanted to, but I knew that I couldn't. I was being childish. For God's sake . . . I was twenty-three years old! I couldn't throw stupid tantrums like this every time something in my life went bad. It wasn't good enough. I was becoming so WEAK.  
  
And vulnerable.  
  
With a tense body, and an even tenser heart, I stood up, dabbing my eyes carefully, trying not to smudge my make-up anymore. I quietly slipped to the door that divided the counter and the kitchen, and I peaked through the crack.  
  
Cole was gone.  
  
Good.  
  
After checking my eyes – they weren't as bad as I thought – I went back to work. Either that or Mr Lowe would fire my ass into outer space.  
  
So I continued taking orders and making lattes, as I was expected...in Starbucks with its edgy brown décor. There were no other colors besides the forest green I was forced to don as a uniform. It kind of made me feel out of place...one spot of color in an otherwise all-brown environment.  
  
But no one else seemed to notice the green girl in the swirl of brown. I blended in to my surroundings. Almost like I've blended in to this dull life.  
  
I drove home that night, feeling as empty as a drum. Everything was echoing around me, but I couldn't hear a thing. It was always like this nowadays. You know, living in a blur. Like I was inside this bubble, where no one could hurt me, and only when I let it pop, could people come in and try to get close to me.  
  
My ponytail wasn't as sleek as it had been that morning. Little strands of hair were curling under my chin. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and my hands were rigid, and still trembling. They hadn't stopped. I'd dropped two plates today, and Mr Lowe was ready to sack me, I could so tell. And then Cole had come back in . . .  
  
I blinked as I remembered when he'd dragged me out to the alleyway . . . beside Starbucks . . .  
  
. . . He'd yelled at me.  
  
. . . He'd hurt me.  
  
. . . I kicked him over.  
  
And I'd run.  
  
And I'd drove.  
  
Away.  
  
. . .  
  
I pulled up in the carport of the apartments, and just stared. Not at anything in particular. Everything was dark. Before my eyes, I saw these funny moving shapes. They were black, and drifted very slowly to the right. Didn't mean anything, they were just there . . . I was trying not to think about anything that was happening. I wished that Cole would just lay off. I swear, he was almost as bad as Paul had been –  
  
I'd never forgive Paul for what he did, though. Nothing could come close to Paul.  
  
Nothing.  
  
I felt shivery. Like, I was only half there. As if I'd wake up, and I'd still be sixteen. None of this shit had happened. Me and Jesse had just kissed in the graveyard. We didn't care about the future; we only cared about how deeply in love we were with each other. Nothing else mattered. It was all just stuff that we could deal with later.  
  
Well, I sure as hell was dealing with it now . . .  
  
And there was hell to pay.  
  
Because that's where I was.  
  
Hell.  
  
The strident shrilling of my stupid jolly-toned cell-phone snatched me from these deep, depressing thoughts. Shaking my head angrily, I grabbed it.  
  
'What?' I demanded, running my hand down my long mane of hair that was still captive of my stupid hair elastic. It was slicked back so tightly it was hurting my head . . .  
  
'Susie?'  
  
I froze.  
  
'M – Mom? Is that y – you?' I spluttered into the Nokia.  
  
'Susie! Oh, hi honey, how are you going? It's so good to hear from you! How's Cole and – '  
  
'Mom, look, this isn't the best – '  
  
'Brad told me all about the reunion, Susie! When are you coming? Andy has a couple of boxes in your room, but we'll get them all out of there tonight. When can you come down soonest? Tomorrow? Or maybe day after? We're so looking forward to seeing you – and Cole for the first time, too –'  
  
Yeah, my mum? Not too informed on the whole "Cole" thing.  
  
'Mom, shut up for a second,' I said. 'Look, I'm not going to the reunion.'  
  
She was silent for a second.  
  
'. . . What do you mean, Suze?'  
  
Oh God . . . you totally had to hear her voice right then. It was so upset. It sounded like she thought she'd done something wrong. I felt horrible. But I was going to be stubborn here. I wasn't going back to Carmel. No matter how many miles the guilt trip she sent me on was . . . I wasn't going.  
  
'I'm staying here. No one'll miss me, anyway. And besides . . .um . . . I'm kind of not at liberty to just buy a pointless plane ticket, seeing as I'm – '  
  
Broke?  
  
' – Busy.'  
  
Again, she was silent.  
  
'But Suze, that's rubbish,' she admonished. 'You can certainly afford to come. You told me that you just got a promotion.'  
  
Actually, that was sort of a code word for getting fired from the drugstore. Boss had it in for me. Said I stole a whole boxload of aspirin. Funnily enough, she didn't report it. Wonder why, you stupid dumb lying –  
  
'Um, yeah, about that – '  
  
'Suze? Is something wrong?'  
  
Now THAT'S a funny question.  
  
Is something wrong? Um, if you just overlook the fact that I'm working for minimum wage at a coffee lounge, my boss THERE hates me, I'm being stalked by my ex who cheated on me, I'm failing the Art course at Boston College, I'm AT Boston College instead of NoCal when DOPEY got in, my long-lost love hates my guts and refused to move to Massachusetts with me because he said we "couldn't work out" and it was all Paul's fault that he was talking this codswallop and that my apartment was a hole and that my HAIR stank of coffee and I had a bruise on my face and my whole life was a toilet that hadn't been flushed for FIVE YEARS and my heart was still broken and it would never ever heal and I knew that I was never going to feel happy again because Jesse was the only one I could have ever loved and he didn't want me anymore, then . . .  
  
'No?' I said. 'Why would you say that?'  
  
She laughed cheerfully into the phone. 'Oh, well, that's good. You sound . . . well, sad.'  
  
No, I'm not sad. I'm not sad at ALL.  
  
'Okay, well, I'll see you soon, okay? Sorry, I can't stay long sweetie. Andy's got seafood on the table. Garlic prawns in this creamy white sauce with some beer batter chips and this divine –'  
  
'Yeah, sounds nice,' I said quickly. 'Mom, I have to go. And I'm not coming to the –'  
  
'I love you, honey. I can't wait to see you and Cole,' she burbled gleefully, and then hung up.  
  
God . . .  
  
Did you hear that?  
  
Did you hear how happy she was? It was . . . beautiful, but at the same time, horrible. She was perfectly happy. I loved it when my mum was happy, don't get me wrong – she deserved some happiness after my dad died – but she was happy even though I wasn't there. And she was happy because she expected me to be coming, God knows when. I'd TOLD her I wasn't going, but she still acted as though she hadn't heard a word I said. For an anchorwoman who made a point of paying attention to instructions as to know what to say on the local TV, she sure needed better listening skills.  
  
But I couldn't let her down.  
  
It was bad enough that my life sucked. I wouldn't depress mum as well by not showing up.  
  
But . . . going back to Carmel. Why did I have to go back? So soon? Before I'd had a chance to convalesce from last time? Mend all those broken things in my life?  
  
I couldn't see Jesse . . . I just couldn't. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him see how much he'd effected me. I couldn't stand to see that he hadn't cared when he'd refused to come with me to Massachusetts, when I had cared so much.  
  
I couldn't . . .  
  
. . . But I had to.  
  
Don't be weak, Suze. Be strong, and have some guts, for once in your pathetic life.  
  
Don't be a no one.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
A/N: Hayley's here to bug you again! Whew, Lolly that was fun. Give her a big round of applause, will you? She wrote an excellent first chapter!! GO LOLLY!!  
  
Lolly – Whoa, Hayley, you're like a reviewer without having to click the purple button. Shut up already, you edited and chucked in all the things that I couldn't while in my tired, writer's-blocked-for-Addicted-Chapter-20 mood.  
  
Review? 


	2. Home

A/N: Lolly: No, Manda. He didn't. Hehehe.  
  
Hayley: Thank you guys so much for reviewing! This is the lovely chapter 2! Many things will be explained later, don't worry! We promise not to confuse you . . . much! We actually BOTH wrote this one! This is dedicated to all of you who reviewed!  
  
Lolly: Yeah . . . Hayles likes her exclamation marks, doesn't she? Ugh . . . Please enjoy, with our compliments.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Despite all of my anger and sadness that I had built up in the previous years . . . the heartache and my overall down-and-out status . . . I decided to go to the stupid reunion.  
  
I know, I know. How sad of me. I had every chance to escape my past and move forward. But that's all I've been trying to do for the past five years . . . trying to move on. But I couldn't . . . I can't. That was another failure to add to the mile-long list.  
  
Well, believe it or not, I had a method to my madness.  
  
I really thought that maybe if I went back home, I would see why I vowed to leave and never come back in the first place. And once I experienced the reunion and saw how crappy my life would have been, I could really move on.  
  
Okay, okay . . . I also wanted that feeling of normalcy again. I had felt so out of place for a really long time, and I just wanted to be Suze Simon . . . pretty, well liked, and extremely kick-butt. That was the girl I used to be . . . the one I wanted to return to more than anything else. I was an adult now. I couldn't fool myself anymore. I wanted to be back home, safe in my room with its big ocean-view and its cozy pink décor. I wanted to be with my mom and to be able to sit down with my stepfamily and eat those gourmet meals that Andy cooked every night.  
  
. . . Just to thing. Five years had been and gone, I'd lived in Massachusetts, and still, I called Carmel my home, didn't I? Because it was home. I didn't want it to be anymore, but it was. And it always would be.  
  
I wanted to feel the feelings I haven't felt in so long. Ones I've tried to reproduce with terrible results . . . pushing, yelling, slapping. All of these things . . . I would have killed to get them back.  
  
I've wasted too many years being the poster-candidate for Zoloft. I just had to break free!  
  
Freedom, however, came at a price . . . $249 that is. And even if I worked double-shifts, I'd never come up with that kind of money! God, were we just supposed to go and pick $249 off a tree or something?  
  
I desperately made a list of people I could call. Not that the list was too long. I had separated myself from all of these great people . . . but one wonderful person still remained.  
  
My best friend in the entire universe . . . Gina.  
  
It's no joke bumming money from your best friend. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you are in a slump . . . that you need someone to pick you up off the ground.  
  
So I took a deep breath, sunk down into my favorite chair, and put my hand on the receiver. Just as I was about to pick it up and dial, the phone rang. Ugh.  
  
'Call Central, Suze speaking,' I answered with annoyance.  
  
'Simon?' a deep, gruff voice said on the other end. 'This is Mr. Lowe. I need to speak with you for a moment.' Oh, the pleasure . . .  
  
'Uh, yes sir, Mr. Lowe . . . but uh, could I call you back?' I asked, my tone instantly dropping but my annoyance was still present.  
  
'No,' he commanded. 'I need to speak to you now.'  
  
I could just see him on the other line, twisting his handlebar mustache as he was talking. He had a tendency to do that when he was preying upon defenseless trainees. At the worst of times, I slipped into that category.  
  
Sad, init?  
  
'Yes sir, Mr. Lowe,' I replied sheepishly.  
  
'I wanted to speak with you today because I've noticed that your work has been suffering lately,' he said in his macho-man voice. If he spoke any louder, the phone would blow up. He had no respect for communicational technology. But . . . OI! SUFFERING?! 'You've been slacking off a lot, Simon . . . daydreaming and what-not. I've also heard complaints of you yelling at other customers. Tamara told me that she saw you harassing one of our regular customers just yesterday.'  
  
'But Mr. Lowe, that was just Cole. He's been, um, kind of, er, stalking me lately. You see, he wants –'  
  
'Simon, shut it. No excuses, this time,' Mr. Lowe grunted. 'I can't have you risking the image of Starbucks, and as manager I feel I have a duty to nip this in the bud.'  
  
Oh my God.  
  
My apartment slipped out of focus and my eyes glazed over. No, I wasn't crying, but I just couldn't believe the words that were coming from this receiver. The funny smell of my apartment bothered me more than ever. It was a mixture between coffee – my doing – and feet – SO not my doing. Maybe that was what was making my eyes water? The feet smell? Who wants to smell feet anyway? Feet are gross. But, you know, I doubt that they have that onion effect. The make-you-cry effect thing, I mean.  
  
'Y-you're firing me?' I asked mournfully, my grip of the receiver incredibly hard. Hell, I didn't have respect for communicational technology either. I was practically crushing the phone. I couldn't believe it. After all of my hard work, I was getting fired! All because of my stupid stalker- ex-boyfriend.  
  
YO, COLE? YOU SUCK!  
  
'This is your two-weeks notice,' he continued as if I had never said a word, 'But I want you gone by tomorrow.'  
  
I wanted to tell him off then and there. No one, I mean NO ONE fires Suze Simon. Not like that, anyway.  
  
I wanted to scream at him, 'Well, you have no idea who you just fired, chump! I may be young, but I have my whole life ahead of me. I can grow up to be something other than an old, cranky manager of STARBUCKS that enjoys making the young people he hires feel like crap. So take back your stupid, ugly apron and use it to clean the staff bathroom! Take your two-weeks- notice and SHOVE IT! HAHA! I'm strong, I'm invincible, I'm WOMAN!'  
  
Okay, so not only is that a bit psycho, but I actually didn't say anything like that. It actually came out as . . .  
  
'Um . . . yes sir, Mr. Lowe.'  
  
I felt so small, so terrible.  
  
But why? I hated that stupid job, looking at that ugly brown wallpaper, seeing my freak ex, and wearing that pukey forest green apron! Oh, and I definitely won't miss smelling like coffee every waking moment . . .  
  
But still. I was failing. One more disappointment. That's all I was, wasn't it? A disappointment. Hell, the last ghost I helped, I had to exorcise. And he wasn't even that bad. Broke a couple of windows, sure. But I had exorcised him, because I had given up. I hadn't tried hard enough. I'd failed at that too . . .  
  
My glazed eyes suddenly became kinda wet again.  
  
NO! NOT AGAIN! NEVER!!!!  
  
Yeah. Go the waterworks. I'd rather be BLEEDING than crying. It was HORRIBLE. This internal, abstract pain was RELENTLESS.  
  
I shouldn't have been crying . . . I should have been celebrating! I, Susannah Simon, was one step closer to freedom! I hung up the phone with a new sense of joy and relief. I deserved way better than that dump!  
  
With my new tenacity, I was able to pump myself up to call Gina. I picked up the phone and dialed her number, which I knew by heart. I waited three rings for an answer.  
  
'You rang?' someone answered the phone with a dry tone. And then . . .  
  
Well, I panicked.  
  
'Sorry, uh, wrong number,' I said as I disguised my voice.  
  
'Suze, it's nice to hear from you again,' Gina said flatly. 'You didn't call last week.'  
  
'H-how did you know it was me?' I asked, yet again feeling small.  
  
'I have caller ID, remember?' Gina replied crisply.  
  
'God. I'm such a loser Gina,' I confided. 'Mr. Lowe on Patience was just on the phone. He fired me. Can you believe it?'  
  
'Way to go, Simon! How long did you manage to keep this job?' Gina asked with a laugh.  
  
'Shut up,' I told her, smiling to myself.  
  
Gina was always like that. I'd do something completely idiotic, and she'd make me feel better by turning it into a big joke. She was the only light in the darkness that was my life. Just, you know. A long distance light. Like, a satellite or something.  
  
Gina the Satellite. Should call her Spudnick or something.  
  
'So, what now?' Gina asked, the dryness in her tone leaving. 'Are you on the hunt for a new job or something?'  
  
'No . . . not yet,' I told her. 'I just need to . . . well, could you . . . I really need . . . what I'm trying to say is . . . '  
  
'You need some cash?' Gina asked. 'Feel free to ask, I'm loaded. I tell ya, Suze. The rich guys are the only way to go. Evan's totally landed this huge inheritance from his dead aunt, or something. And babe, here's me, sitting pretty on a silken couch, reaping the rewards. In the form Godiva chocolates, no less. So, want some dough then?'  
  
To make . . . bread?  
  
Oh, dough. Duh, Suze.  
  
'Well, since you offered,' I said, another smile crept on my face. 'Yeah, I could really use the money. I got invited to the fifth year reunion at my high school, and I need to buy a plane ticket home. It's . . . uh, $249 . . . '  
  
'I'm on my way to the bank. I can wire it to you right now. And I'll make it three hundred, okay Suze? Say, 'thank you aunty Gina.' '  
  
'Oh my God, thank you!' I squealed. 'Gina, you are a living saint! An angel from heaven! You just, um, gotta croak or whatever before they canonize you or something. Or maybe you can go all Joan of Arc and die for God or something, you know, go all martyr and shit? . . . But dude, you don't know how much I need this. I totally promise once I get back on my feet I'll –'  
  
'Don't waste your breath, Simon,' Gina stopped me mid-sentence. 'You don't have to pay me back. I think I still owe you a ton of money from buying me all that ice-cream when we were little.'  
  
That ice cream? Oh yeah, THAT $249 ice cream . . .  
  
'Gina,' I said as I slipped on some shoes. 'I'm going to the bank right now. Thank you so much! You've saved my sorry ass once again! I can't thank you enough! Bye!'  
  
I hung up the phone and put it back in its cradle.  
  
Surprisingly, I've felt better than I had in awhile.  
  
Carmel looked closer than ever.  
  
I was tripping all over myself with happiness and anticipation as I walked out of my door. Wait a minute . . .  
  
I wasn't tripping on my feet . . . I was tripping on . . .  
  
Oh. My. God. No way . . . no freaking way!  
  
I had been tripping on this incredible bouquet of two dozen beautiful red roses, placed right in front of my doorway. Shit, there were so many! They were blood red, and there were still beads of water on the crimson petals. The colour was intense. The wrapping was silver and black, and it shimmered in the dim light from my apartment. I reached down slowly and plucked the card from the heap of flowers, feeling crestfallen when I recognized the penmanship.  
  
'Suze', it said in lanky cursive, 'One day you'll see that we were meant to be. You don't realize it now, but you can't live without me. Admit it. You need me. You want me. You love me. You'll face the facts one day . . . and you know where I'll be. Right here . . . waiting for you. Call me some time, babe. Remember . . . I'll be waiting. Wake up, Suze. Love, Cole.'  
  
God . . . why couldn't he just leave me the hell alone? He just didn't know where to stop. He harassed me at work, he beat me up in alley-ways . . . what was next? Quite honestly, I didn't want to find out. What I couldn't make sense of was why he was even bothering. I mean, seriously. Sure, I wasn't a dog. Not by any means. I'd been out with a whole handful of guys in the past five years – no drastic, skanky number, but enough to know that I wasn't a complete eyesore. And I'd managed to keep, my, uh . . . you know, virtue. Kinda heavy make-out, maybe, but none of it affected my chastity. I wasn't going to throw something like that away on some one- night-stand guy. No way. I had more self-respect than that. But the people that I'd been seeing, well . . . they didn't have much respect for me. I think the longest relationship that I'd been in was about a month. That was with Luke. But yeah, he'd up and left when I, er, told him I wasn't ready still. Turned out he'd made a bet with his best friend that he could, um, you know. The loser lost the bet, and I'm glad. I tell you now, I gave him an ass kicking he won't forget in a hurry. I felt like some stupid trophy. This girl that people wanted just to show off and have on display. It wasn't fair! I felt I deserved something better, you know? Not to just dress up and look nice, but to, you know, actually talk to the person I was in the relationship with? But yeah. The only thing these guys were interested in was gettin' some booty.  
  
DO I LOOK LIKE A BOOTY BAR TO YOU?  
  
. . . It was always the same, here. All the guys were exactly the same. They were all pigs. Users. Assholes. But why? Did I have such a horrible personality? Why did guys just assume I was so easy? And how embarrassing was it, to know that I was twenty-three years old, and I still hadn't . . . yeah.  
  
Ha. Twenty three years old and I still am embarrassed to say 'sex.'  
  
But this place. It sucked the life out of me. There was nothing here. It was hell. A blue, grey, bottomless, cold, unmerciful, scything hell and it RIPPED ME TO PIECES.  
  
. . . Oh my God. I had to leave . . . I had to leave now.  
  
NOW.  
  
I tore the card into shreds furiously, and threw it into the Massachusetts breeze – which wasn't all that impressive, tonight. But it carried that card away from me. I was glad. I seized the bouquet, ran outside and dumped it in the trash. It looked so out of place among the old newspapers and the banana peels and stuff, but it more than deserved to be there. Then I ran back inside my apartment, and started grabbing all of my clothes, stuffing it into bags. Randomly, with hardly anything going through my head but an angry buzzing of a million bees, I just snatched things from all my cabinets; bottles, make-up, hair brushes, everything. Everything in my wardrobe – shoes, clothes, hats, hand bags - was poured into a large suitcase. All I could hear was the buzzing. The whirring of my overdriven mind. I slid into my brown leather coat, hiding my stupid green Starbucks attire, and dragged all my bags outside to the elevator. I heaved everything in, pressed the ground floor, and waited silently as a familiar lurching feeling occurred in my lower belly. Even though I knew, I couldn't tell whether the elevator was moving up or down . . .  
  
I had to leave.  
  
Leave.  
  
Get out.  
  
. . . . . . . .  
  
I'm lifting you up  
  
I'm letting you down  
  
I'm dancing till dawn  
  
I'm fooling around  
  
I'm not giving up  
  
I'm making your love  
  
This city's made us crazy  
  
And we must get out  
  
- Maroon 5  
  
. . . . . . . .  
  
I had to get the heck out of there. I couldn't stay there in that apartment anymore. Not when Cole was like this . . . stalking me. Waiting for me . . .  
  
At least, not until I was ready again. To face this life. I wasn't strong enough yet . . .  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
It kind of went by in a blur. I couldn't think straight. Not when I flagged down a taxi prepared to carry all of my bags. Not when I went to the bank to get the money that Gina had wired. Not when I caught another taxi to the airport . . .  
  
I was leaving.  
  
It was all so fast.  
  
What about my apartment? What about my CAR? Would it just sit there? Get nicked? Vandalized? What?! What would happen to all of my stuff if I didn't come back within the next two months? The fridge? That poor, defenseless milk. It was going to go above and beyond the used by date. Did I care about the people in the third-world countries who could have been drinking that milk? No.  
  
And what about Boston College? My second choice college? Why had it been so hard trying to get into NoCal, but BC had been a breeze? Yeah, NoCal had no more space. Stupid late applications . . . WHY COULDN'T I HAVE JUST STAYED IN CARMEL WITH JESSE?! But yeah, I'd done most of the courses through, right? It was only Art History left now. Who cared about that? I majored in Psychology. That was fine. I was done there. I didn't need to stay. What would it matter if I just . . . didn't turn up there next week? Nothing mattered.  
  
NOTHING.  
  
. . . Where did I go? What happened to me? Where did I lose myself, so hopelessly? Why was everything such a mess? Such a filthy, demolished mess?  
  
Yeah. I know exactly where all of this crap started.  
  
. . . With Jesse.  
  
I wasn't thinking about much that night when I was on that plane, back to Carmel. I didn't know how I managed to get everything right. You know, pay for the ticket, organize for Andy to come and pick me up, book the flight, get all my luggage on board . . . while I was in such a daze. I felt like my mind had shut down. I was just reacting to things without thinking. Without having opinions on anything. I couldn't feel anything. It was all numb. I wasn't sure . . . wasn't sure what I was doing, or why. I mean, I vaguely knew why. I had to get out of Massachusetts, I know. Away from Cole, from the green uniform that I wore everyday double-shift, away from Boston College, from the apartment.  
  
Away from this life I was trying to live.  
  
Trying, and failing.  
  
This couldn't be called living, surely not.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
The Arrivals part of the airport was jam-packed. I had this nervous flickering feeling at the pit of my stomach. Everything was so busy! What if Andy had forgotten to come? What if I was stuck here? Would he remember to pick me up? Did mum tell him that I would be here? That I was counting on him being here? I needed to see him? To reassure myself that this wasn't just some stupid fantasy I was having, having nodded off in the storeroom at Starbucks again, awaiting a big yelling-at from Lowe-in-calcium. It was all starting to feel a little nightmarish, actually, with so many people milling around me, calling, running to greet other people, and electrically magnified voices calling delayed passengers on the speakers, when a word broke the whole falsity of everything.  
  
That word was my name.  
  
'Suze!'  
  
I was still in my Starbucks uniform, and my brown coat. I had Ray Bans on, although I didn't know why. My beige Kate Spade was clutched punctiliously in my left hand, and I was dragging my suitcase along in my right. I hadn't slept on the flight, the food had been second to road kill, the little kid behind me had been kicking my chair, I'd seen a middle-aged female ghost who wanted mediation, and wanted it now, who I'd cordially escorted to the Shadowland until I had time to properly do my job, I had a killer post- shifting headache, I desperately needed a shower and a rigorous date with my punching bag, and so, generally? I wasn't feeling all that hot.  
  
So when a nineteen-year-old redhead launches himself into your arms and practically crushes you, well, you'd feel a little squeamish too.  
  
At first I didn't recognize him. I didn't recognize the tall, lanky body and the deeper, mature voice. I didn't recognize the clothes that he wore, or his acne-spotted face. But then, I did recognize that familiar 'Max' smell on him. I recognized his eyes, minus the glasses. I recognized that weedy smile, and the fierceness of his red hair.  
  
It was Doc.  
  
Oh my God . . . where had I been?  
  
My mouth fell open in surprise, and in . . . something else. I, um . . . I think it was anguish.  
  
WHERE HAD I BEEN?  
  
This little nerdy guy had grown up! He wasn't the I-have-a-project-due-in-a- month-but-I-already-finished-it boy that I'd left at the end of the twelfth grade. Here he was, older, wiser – pimplier, yeah – taller, grown up. My favorite step-brother had grown up.  
  
And I'd been too busy wallowing in misery over in Mass to be there for him.  
  
Oh my God.  
  
Time was a thief, a pirate! I'd missed so many years of David Ackerman's life – the bits where, as a sister, I get to give him girl advice and tell him exactly how to coordinate his clothes as not to look so geeky. But noooo. I'd skipped town to run away from everything. I was always running. I still am.  
  
These years had been stolen.  
  
And it wasn't fair.  
  
The handbag slipped from my hand, as did the suitcase handle. I closed my eyes, and tightly hugged Doc back, silently praying for forgiveness. For not being there. For not being the sister I should have been.  
  
Not step-sister.  
  
Sister.  
  
I buried my face into his shoulder affectionately – the little bloke was now taller than me! Wasn't that rude? – and held him closely. I felt horrible. I felt like, in some sick, strange way, I'm betrayed him as well by leaving. By running away from Carmel. Away from Jesse.  
  
'Um . . . Suze?'  
  
I blinked in shock at being disturbed from my thoughts. Hastily, I released Doc. He stumbled back, looking surprised, in a tickled kind of way. 'Great to see you, Suze. Wow, your hair looks great! It's darker. And longer. And straighter –'  
  
What? Was this Doc? 'Oi, who are you?' I demanded good-naturedly. 'Where's the long winded explanations about, you know, the after effects of jet lag, or whatever used to fascinate that bookworm brain of yours five years ago?'  
  
Doc went red. 'Oh, yeah. Mom said that people looked at me funny when I did that.'  
  
You don't say . . .  
  
'But don't worry,' he said cheerfully, 'It's all playing in my head. You want me to tell you why you're so –'  
  
'No,' I said quickly, 'I'm good. You, uh, wanna gimme a hand with this?' I gestured lackadaisically towards the suitcase. He seemed to snap out of something, and he swooped down and attempted to pick it up totally.  
  
I carry a lot of shoes.  
  
'Ow,' he wheezed, and threw it back down in alarm. God, it wasn't THAT heavy. In minor irritation, I handed him my handbag instead, and picked up the suitcase with ease.  
  
He may have grown, but he was still a cute little wimp.  
  
. . . But he has grown, Suze. And you were too busy making frigging lattes to care.  
  
Oh God.  
  
I was waiting for this to feel real. For the substance, and the reality of this had yet to hit home. But I was only suffering this very strange feeling in my stomach. It wasn't unpleasant as such, but I hoped it wouldn't linger for too long. It could have been those stupid peanuts I'd eaten on the plane – I wouldn't be surprised if the stewardesses kept them for over eighty years – or the plane trip itself. Or . . . when was the last time I ate my vegetables? Hell, even my diet was shit.  
  
'Well, well. That certainly looked chummy.'  
  
I looked beyond my adorable nineteen-year-old kid step, and noticed Andy for the first time. He was looking older. His hair was thinner, and his skin was a bit darker from the Carmel sun, and a little wrinklier, too. But in every way, he was the exact same wannabe-comedian/gourmet chef that my mother had married almost six years ago. Just Andy.  
  
He came over and pulled me into a fatherly embrace. Even though he wasn't my father, it was still filled with warmth and gladness. 'Wow, you've grown,' he observed, a merry twinkle in his eyes. 'Not that that's the most flattering thing to say to a woman of your age. And from a step-dad's perspective, no less.'  
  
'Hear hear,' I smiled. 'I was about to point that out.'  
  
He gave me a roguish grin. 'Here, let me take that,' he offered, grabbing the suitcase from me –  
  
- Causing him to stagger back from the weight.  
  
I scoffed and rolled my eyes sardonically.  
  
'Honestly . . . am I the only man here?' I asked, taking it by myself.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Oh, honey . . . '  
  
Had I imagined correctly, how good it would feel to have those arms hugging me again? Did I remember how young I felt when she was holding me like that, stroking my hair and telling me how much she missed me?  
  
No.  
  
It was even better than I could have imagined.  
  
After a period in my life where everything had been so wrong, and so ruthless, this was like the sweetest melody. I was on a high. These were people I cared about, all around me. People who cared about me . . .  
  
'Hey, mum,' I grinned at her. 'Where's Dope – um, Brad and Jake?'  
  
'Out,' she scowled at Andy. 'You said they'd be back to meet Suze again.' Andy shrugged. 'No controlling those two these days,' he gave her a silly facial expression. I laughed. Mom gave me a motherly kiss on the cheek, and fingered my hair again. 'Oh, Susie . . . your hair's beautiful. And so long! How'd you get it so straight? And all the split ends are gone! It looks amazing, Susie. Like those models on the TV –'  
  
'Yeah,' I smiled. 'This girl next door to me, Lucinda, is a hairdresser, and she gave me a half-price deal. She straightened it and colored it and treated it with . . . well, um, I forget. But at least it's not so primitive looking anymore. I've lost the Neanderthal look now. Doesn't suit me much these days.'  
  
She beamed, her eyes all watery. Then she hugged me again, her chin digging into my shoulder. 'Oh, my baby's home,' she kept repeating. 'My baby's home . . . '  
  
'I'm not your baby anymore, mom,' I said in mock annoyance. 'Last time I checked, I was well and truly in the 'adult' category.'  
  
'No, no, Susie,' she shook her head. 'You'll always be my little baby.'  
  
Oh God . . . Someone cared. Mom always cared.  
  
. . .  
  
Mom, with tears of joy still in her eyes, led me upstairs and down the hallway. I had forgotten how long it was, really. When I was sixteen, I had always bounded up the stairs and down they hallway . . . to busy to notice all of the pictures Andy put up. There was a nice family portrait that we took before Brad and I went off to college. We looked like one big, happy family . . . it truly was picture perfect. I was still so young in that picture . . . young, happy, with one heck of a future ahead of me. But now . . . I was twenty-three, in depression mode major, and whatever future I still had didn't look at all appealing.  
  
We stopped suddenly at my door. My mom nodded at me to open it, but I was a little reluctant. I didn't quite know what opening that door might mean. I wondered if, by opening it, I would suddenly be transported to the time before all of this mess . . . when my room was a place of endless hoping, dreaming, and thinking. So many unforgettable things happened in there. Tears were shed, fights were fought, and kisses were . . . well, enjoyed. By me at least. I was never so sure about the other party involved . . .  
  
'It's okay, Susie,' my mom whispered softly, 'Go on in.'  
  
I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.  
  
Whoa! I forgot how . . . pink it was. Even though it was dark outside of my bay window, the pale pink still shone through. My lamp with the pink lampshade provided a warm, cozy glow. I clapped my hands together, which turned on the overhead light. I remember how excited Andy was when he first showed me how they worked . . . the first day I landed in Carmel. That was the first day of the rest of my life.  
  
My mom left the room. I forgot if she told me something first, or what. I was too busy soaking it in. The memories, they all flooded back in my brain simultaneously. I felt a bit overwhelmed, so I dropped my luggage and plopped down on my frilly pink canopy bed.  
  
It was great to be home. Carmel was still my home.  
  
It always had been . . .  
  
But home was missing something . . . or someone really. I rested my head one of my soft pillows and turned my head towards the bay window and just stared at it for a bit. I was really just waiting . . . waiting for answers . . . waiting for a sign.  
  
Oh, and I guess you could say I was waiting for Jesse too. I guess it was an old habit. Seeing Jesse by the bay window, I mean. It was his favorite spot in my room, after all. Or maybe he was bound by his nineteenth century manners not to get too near. Yeah right! He probably didn't want to get anywhere near me at all . . .  
  
Why was I thinking of him? That part of my life was over . . . the part where I ponder over Jesse's true intentions. I'm not some schoolgirl with a crush anymore . . . I am a grown woman. I need to think of more mature things. Like my speech.  
  
CRAP! I have to make a speech the day after tomorrow! What am I going to say to these people?  
  
I rolled off of my bed and searched my drawers for an old spiral that hadn't been used for years. Then I found a pencil and started writing whatever was on my mind.  
  
Funny, though. As I closed my eyes, visualising what all my peers would be like now, in the future, all I could think of were bad, offensive thoughts. I scrawled down angrily . . .  
  
'Well wow. Look at everyone. We've grown up, haven't we? I look out and before me, I see the same old people. Well, young people, just, um, older. You know, with a couple more wrinkles and stuff, and more plastic surgery than five years ago. Yes, Debbie Mancuso, I'm looking at YOU. And Scott Turner, did you think no one would notice how your nose just MAGICALLY shrunk? Puh-lease. But yeah. I mean, it really wasn't THAT big . . . it's just that, well, you know. It's definitely smaller. You certainly got your money's worth . . . Oh my GOD, Dopey . . . or Brad, whatever one of the dwarves you are these days . . . I'm talking about his NOSE, okay? STAY FOCUSED.' I paused momentarily, sniggering in not such a polite way. I was enjoying this. It was wrong, and I was enjoying it. There is no redemption for me. I continued.  
  
'But anyway . . . we all had really great memories . . . like the time when Kelly lost her contact lens in History and we all had to find it. That was educational. Um . . . yeah. it was . . . Taught us the history of 'Just wear GLASSES. They're bigger and easier to SEE, God dammit.' Or that one time at lunch when Brad got in that huge fight with Scott over a tray of fries. Well, its a good thing you guys weren't that hungry. It's people like you who make food for the birds MUCH more enjoyable. And a lesson to everyone who got an A in Science studies? Burn the documents, the records, EVERYTHING. Look what happened to science nerd Michael Meducci? Landed himself in jail. That's all your future holds. You will be too smart for the rest of the generation. The dumbasses will turn against you. You WILL be betrayed. No justice. So let the grades BURN. Like, um, Salem witches or something . . . '  
  
This was HORRIBLE. Why did I feel so proud of it?  
  
'Then there's all the guys, totally checking the girls out still. HAVE YOU NO SHAME? Didn't you, like, grow out of that or something? For God's sake. You have to wonder, ladies, why men think they're smarter. I mean, seriously. Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Dog is a man's best friend. Three guesses who the dumber sex is, sheesh . . . Talk about testosterone poisoning. . . . No offense, Father Dom. I know you were only looking at Sister Ernestine's butt because someone posted a 'kick me' sign on it . . . suuuure . . . And tut tut, Father Dominic. I mean, I know that you silly men like to go for the large chested woman . . . but there's such thing as OTT, you know? Next, of course, we have Kelly Prescott. Beautiful, popular, perfect Princess Kelly. Well, beauty is skin-deep. But yeah, give that girl some sand paper and she'll think it's a map of the Sahara Desert. I mean, what's her ambition in life, anyway? Be like Vanna White and learn the alphabet? Bet her parents are so proud. It's called 'blondness,' people. Avoid it at all costs.'  
  
I could just see that perfect blond face, staring at me in anger and . . . hurt. And then , I moved onto a subject that was most pressing in my mind. Something I had to get out . . .  
  
'And then, into the quiet, Catholic Mission one day, breezes this Adonis. This dark angel. This god, with his cool, mysterious confidence, his dark curls, his crystalline eyes of sheer blue ice, and a voice as low as the distant rumble of thunder. Guys like these can only come out of the movies, right? The ones that are so perfect, that 'perfection' seems too weak a word? Yeah, well, every shark has his teeth. Sharp, and ever menacing, in those dazzling smiles they give, trying to lure you in, just so you can come a little closer . . . So they can go for the kill – Paul, stop grinning. This is NOT funny!! – and these are the guys that make you wish that you practiced kick-boxing more religiously –'  
  
Suze STOP IT.  
  
Well, so much for being a mature woman . . .  
  
I couldn't believe myself. These people honored me by choosing me as their Vice President three years in a row and accepting me . . . and what did I do? I had to go on bashing them like some pathetic little girl with low self-esteem. I felt bad about my own miserable life that I wanted to bring everyone down with me. Talk about unfair!  
  
Nothing is fair anymore.  
  
Obviously, I was not in the greatest speech writing mood. I just wanted to go to bed and get some sleep. I had this really bad feeling in my gut. I don't know if it really meant something or if it was the jet lag talking.  
  
I fell backward onto my pillow and clapped my hands for the light to turn off. The moon was shining through my open bay window, making it shine with a peculiar glow. I couldn't bear to look at it anymore so I jammed my eyes shut and turned myself completely around so I couldn't see it.  
  
Yup, kids. You're looking at a new Susannah Simon. A new Suze that has straight elbow-length hair, that is currently unemployed, and one that can't keep a boyfriend. Oh yeah, and she sleeps with a quilt pulled over her face.  
  
If only it were easier to breathe that way.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
I awoke to the smell of something delicious . . . chicken fried steak? Whatever it was it smelled really good. I hadn't smelt food that good in suck a long time. The very scent was wrung with warm memories of dinners at the Ackerman household. Home. I was home again . . . A rush of glee squeezed me pleasantly.  
  
I poked out of my quilt and slowly got up. I looked at my alarm clock on my nightstand, which read 11:00 am. Whoa, I sure did sleep in. I yawned widely as I stretched out. It looked like a beautiful day from my bay window, which was . . . closed? Weird. It was open last night. I guessed Andy had developed a new hatred for bugs or something. Or maybe mom was afraid of me catching pneumonia. Or maybe . . . ah, forget it.  
  
I slipped out of bed and staggered towards my bathroom. I noticed my reflection in the mirror . . . oh God. I looked like a caveman. My hair somehow managed to end up a fuzzy mess and I was still wearing my Starbucks uniform. I was a wreck. My life was a wreck . . .  
  
You know what I needed? A nice, cleansing bath. That would just have to happen, you know . . .  
  
And once I was done, I emerged a totally clean, refreshed person. Well, after I blow dried my hair and applied a bit of make-up to that massive stress zit popping up in the middle of my forehead. Okay, okay I wasn't looking too badly for someone who just woke up from a 5-year nightmare that was her life and was now safe and sound in the place she calls home. Especially since I was wearing a purple off-the-shoulder top with these classy black pants. Now all I had to do was go see what was cooking downstairs.  
  
I clomped downstairs and into the dining room where Andy was serving lunch. I was right. It was chicken fried steak, topped with Andy's special gravy that he made from scratch served with a side of corn and one massive dinner roll. He still had his touch.  
  
'You're awake,' my mother noticed as I took a seat at the table. 'Did you have a peaceful rest?'  
  
'Yeah, mom, it was great,' I replied truthfully. I hadn't gotten that kind of sleep in years, but I couldn't tell her that. She would, after all, throw a huge fit. I didn't want to worry her with something like that.  
  
'Suze, you decided to come,' I heard a voice behind me said so suddenly. I looked behind me and hopped up as fast as possible.  
  
'Sleep-I mean, Jake!' I said as I propelled myself into my oldest stepbrother's arms.  
  
'Hey, it's nice to see you again. It's been awhile, hasn't it?' he asked. He still looked the same, except he looked a little less tired and a little more sophisticated. He actually cut his hair, so he no longer possessed that surfer look. Although, judging by his tan, I'm sure he had spent his spare time catching some waves every now-and-then.  
  
'Sure has,' I said as I let go of him. He wandered into the kitchen to give my mom a hug and help her out with dessert. Just then, I heard the door open and from it came Dopey, in the flesh and blood.  
  
'Hey Brad,' I called from where I was standing, waving my hand slightly. I wasn't about to give him a hug or anything because, let's face it, we weren't that close. That would be disgusting.  
  
Once he saw me, he went into this huge coughing spell. I ran over to him and started patting him on the back while making sure he was all right.  
  
'Suze,' he wheezed, 'I-is that you? Whoa.'  
  
'Yep,' I replied as I escorted him to the kitchen to get a glass of water, 'It's me.'  
  
'But . . . but you're . . . you've changed,' Brad stammered as I filled a cup with water.  
  
'Well DUH. It's only been, like, what? Five years or so?' I asked him as I raised an eyebrow.  
  
'You're . . . like, whoa . . . I uh . . . I'm gonna go take a seat.'  
  
Well, I guess he'd never been that articulate. And I guess he had lost his gracefulness too. He was tripping around on the way back to the dining room. Then when he pushed the swinging doors opened he turned back around, looked me over once more, and smiled. Oh my God . . . you're KIDDING ME.  
  
I shall take a second out of being an adult.  
  
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
. . . Thank you.  
  
I shook my head in utter disgust and headed back into the dining room and took my seat. I placed my napkin in my lap as was custom, and Max, though looking very old for a dog, rested his head in my lap. I patted him lovingly and whispered to him, 'I missed you old buddy. I'll drop you some chicken fried steak.'  
  
During lunch, Jake and Brad filled me in on everything that was going on. Jake's pizza business was going just fine, as they managed to out sell Peninsula Pizza. Surprisingly, he seemed to know a lot about becoming an entrepreneur, as he was giving me some tips just in case I 'wanted to spread my wings'. I would never in a million years expect him to say something like that, but I guess times are a changin'. And he actually bought that Camaro he's always wanted. He bragged about how souped up it was and what he planned to do with it next.  
  
Brad, however, didn't really say much to me. And when he did, it was all mumbling and stuttering. I managed to find out, however, that he hasn't flunked out of college yet. In fact, he was top of his class in English . . . a big surprise since he bombed it in high school. Jake later informed me that Brad had the hots for his professor, who was, according to Jake, 'a total babe'. No wonder he passed. I guess some things never change.  
  
After a lovely lunch, I offered to help clean the dishes and Sleepy, Dopey, and Doc all insisted on helping. Doc was really excited about college and his plans to become the next Bill Gates. He had gotten some major scholarships that covered schooling, books, and board. Lucky duck. I mean, Doc.  
  
'So . . . um, Suze. You going to that Mass today?' Brad asked as he sidled next to me.  
  
'Mass? What Mass?' I asked as I threw him a towel so he could help me dry dishes.  
  
'You didn't hear? There's going to be a Mass for us at 3 this afternoon. You know, because it's our reunion and all,' Brad replied.  
  
'Really?' I asked, 'I guess I'll go then.'  
  
'Need a lift?' he offered. 'I was planning to go too.'  
  
'No thanks, I'm good,' I rejected his offer. As much as I'd love to bond with my stepbrother, I just didn't feel like actually being in a car with him. Especially after he's eaten chicken fried steak.  
  
With that, I left Brad to finish drying the dishes as I jogged up the stairs. And boy was I surprised when I came in my room to see Spike, sitting at my closed window mewing loudly, as if to want in. What was he doing here? He lived in the rectory now. He really never lived in my room anyway, he just came and went as he pleased, not bothering to show up unless . . .  
  
I looked around my room suspiciously, eyeing for evidence that would explain Spike's unexpected visit. No lost chipmunks, no stranded birdies, and definitely no Jesse in sight. Though, I wasn't really worried about the first two on the list. It was third that I was freaking over.  
  
I blindly picked up my purse and decided to head on over to the mission early. I felt this urge to just go somewhere, anywhere but stay in my room. Plus, I wanted to see if I could catch Father Dominic before he began preparing for Mass. God . . . it was going to be so good, seeing him again . . . I think it was one of the things I needed the most.  
  
So I headed out in the Honda Civic that I rented. It was nice driving in the Californian afternoon. The sun was shining a bright white color in the cloudless blue sky. It reflected itself on the ocean in a blindingly beautiful manner. It was the kind of bright summer afternoon that left you wanting to go to the beach and relax while drinking an ice cold Diet Coke. But, alas, no beach for Suze Simon . . . yet.  
  
I pulled into the back parking lot and slowly walked inside the mission. The place hadn't changed a bit. The hallways were still dark and cool while the courtyard was bright and warm. I strolled around a bit looking for my old locker among the others. Locker 273 was unique from all the others. The dents that one ghosts, Heather, put in it were bent back so you almost couldn't tell anymore. Well, almost anyway.  
  
I heard doors open as students were flooding out of their classrooms. It was passing period already. I stood there and watched the students pass me by, dodging me. I saw Sister Ernestine getting on to some poor girl about her skirt length and threatened her with detention. I laughed to myself for a bit and turned back to my old locker.  
  
All of a sudden I felt a slight tug on my sleeve. I turned, finding myself eye to eye with a curly-headed kid. He must have been really tall for his age, because he was nearly as tall as I was. I guessed he was about fourteen or so, give or take a few years.  
  
'Uh, Miss? That's my locker that you're . . . ' the kid trailed off as his blue eyes widened.  
  
'I'm sorry if this is your locker,' I apologized, blushing. 'It's just that, well, a long time ago this locker used to be mine too and I was just . . . '  
  
'I know you,' the kid told me, his eyes now glistening.  
  
'W-what?' I asked, bewildered.  
  
'You're Suze,' he said my name with a smile. 'Suze Simon. Do you remember me?'  
  
I had difficulty placing a name with that face. He had this familiar curly brown hair and these wide icy blue eyes with brown spots in them. He smiled widely showing most of his pure white teeth. He reminded me forcefully of someone . . . Paul Slater. But this kid was young, so it couldn't have possibly been . . . oh! I knew . . .  
  
'. . . Jack? Jack Slater?' I said in a disbelieving whisper.  
  
Jack nodded, and his smile grew wider. Boy, Jack grew up. He wasn't that whiny little kid anymore with that unruly hair and caved in chest. He actually had somewhat of a tan and his smile was slightly shy. He obviously had a fair few friends, because they kept milling in and out going, 'Hey Jack,' and then heading to their classes. Just one shocker after another.  
  
'Jack, it's so nice to see you. Whoa, you've grown,' I said as I ruffled his hair playfully. He scowled and rolled his eyes. He must have been eighth grade by now, or ninth. He looked older. I pulled him into a big hug, in which he nearly crushed my ribs to pieces.  
  
'Jeez, you must work out or something,' I wheezed once he let go.  
  
He blushed and replied shyly, 'I'm on the swim team.' Whoa. Swim team? I remembered when he was afraid of water. Actually he was afraid of everything back then. I kind of snorted. Oh, the irony.  
  
The halls were empty now, except for the occasional late person running to their class. Sr. Ernestine got on to them for being late and running down the halls . . . both major offenses in her book. I saw her trudging down the halls, targeting us as her next victims. Of course, I couldn't get in trouble, but I really didn't want poor Jack to feel her wrath.  
  
'Jack, you better get to class. I don't want Sr. Ernestine on your trail,' I told him as I looked back at the nun who used to wreck my weekend plans in high school. She (fortunately) didn't recognize me, but she did do something shocking. She waved (!) and smiled (!!) at Jack, and she didn't bug him about loitering in the halls (!!!).  
  
'It's okay, Suze. Sister Ernestine and I are like this,' he said as he crossed his fingers. I laughed at the thought of Sr. Ernestine actually getting along with kids. In fact, it was kinda scary.  
  
'Plus,' he continued, 'She knows I'm going to Father Dom's office. She thinks I'm in counseling. That's why she's always so nice to me.'  
  
That statement caused me to snort rather unattractively, but it really didn't matter to me. I wished Father Dom had come up with something like that for me back then. Would have saved me some strange looks.  
  
'I was just going there myself,' I grinned. Why did I feel so amazingly happy? It was almost unwelcome, because of its rarity. 'Do you mind if I crash your 'counseling' session?'  
  
'Nope, I don't care. Nothing's going on right now, if you know what I mean.'  
  
So we enjoyed pleasant conversation as we walked down the shaded halls. I figured out that once Paul graduated, Rick and Nancy were still worried about Grandpa Slaski's (er, I mean Slater) health. He was doing a whole lot better and he continued to throw a fit every time they tried to send him to the old folk's home. Jack had convinced his parents that, even though he was young, he could still help out. He confided that he really just wanted away from his parents. I wouldn't blame him, considering how they pretty much neglected him at the Pebble Beach hotel and Golf Resort. So they shipped him out here, and he's been in Carmel ever since. Aww, good for Jack. He was so happy. So good-natured and cheery. It was strange to be around someone like this again. Massachusetts had been home to so many lost souls, looking for their purpose on this earth, like me. No one had really existed to live. Jack did, you could tell. He really liked it here, he told me. He said he had cool friends and that Father Dominic was always there to help him out.  
  
'And when Father Dom is busy flipping out about visits from the archbishop or when I just want to talk about other stuff, I go to Jesse,' he said.  
  
I stopped in my tracks. Stopped dead. Frozen. Speechless.  
  
'J-Jesse?' I spluttered, my eyes wide and still.  
  
'Yeah,' he stopped too. 'You remember him. You told me he was your best friend. Isn't he cool? He taught me all these awesome old-timey first aid tips. He also taught me how to act at dances and stuff. You see one time, I wanted to ask this one girl named-'  
  
I didn't hear the rest of the story, because I shut down. Jesse. He was still around. He still hadn't moved on. And he was Jack's mentor and best friend . . . like he had been to me. I started walking again in a daze. I wondered if he had ever saved Jack's life before or if he ever talked about our adventures together. I wondered if he ever thought about me whenever he had to scold Jack for doing something stupid. Though Jack received a very formal education about Mediation, so I doubt he got into too much trouble.  
  
'Here we are, Suze,' Jack said as he motioned to the door that read 'Principal' in very bold printing. He ducked inside, as to formally introduce me with the, "Hey, you'll NEVER guess who just popped in for a cuppa?" or something, but he slid back out, with a grimace. 'Secretary said he might be in the chapel,' he shrugged. 'Still wanna come?'  
  
'Duh,' I replied, giving a little smile. Father Dom. He was probably preparing for the mass. I dimly remembered that time that I exorcised myself in that church, and how Maria had been there, and how I'd almost died to save Je –  
  
. . . Nothing.  
  
We reached the chapel in no time. Jack quietly pushed the huge golden doors open, and gestured for me to come in. In contrast with the rest of the bubbling school, well . . . this was so quiet. Eerily quiet. Unnerving . . . Eesh, churches these days.  
  
'Father D? Father D!' Jack said in a loud whisper. I looked up at the statue of Mary. She stared down at me with forgiving eyes, extending her hand out in a "I am holy. You are not. So ha" kind of way. The whole church was kind of dark. Candles were flickering along the alter, and above all of the pews in an intimidating way. I winced a little, hearing my feet echo on the cold floor as I walked down the aisle. I felt like a bride, for some distorted reason. You know, the "walking down the aisle" thing. It was weird. And duuuude, I wasn't going to make a very spesh bride anytime soon. Yeah, go the post-mental Suze.  
  
'Father Dom! Where are ya?'  
  
I kind of jumped when he continued calling. I was beginning to feel very much so alone. Like a draft had swept through the church, chilling my arms. I looked up at the very large crucifix beside Mary. Jesus, on the cross. He looked condemning. I felt like I'd mortally sinned.  
  
It was about then that I heard it.  
  
Him.  
  
'Well, would you look at that . . . It's none other than Susannah Simon.'  
  
I felt my blood run horribly, horribly cold. I didn't return around. I couldn't. I was immobilized. I silently willed that the voice I recognized so well did not exist. I heard the mirth, and the satirical amusement in his voice. It cut, and condescended.  
  
No . . . NO. Not NOW!  
  
I felt like all air had been ripped from my chest.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Eeek. Well? You dudes all know the deal. REVIEW QUICKLY, and we'll UPDATE QUICKLY. Trust me, we will. Hayles and I are still on the turbo "LET'S WRITE!!" mode.  
  
So please, update? We promise, it the plot will thicken dramatically . . . 


	3. Memory Lane

This is long . . . our apologies. Love Lolly and Hayley! And, seriously? How could you NOT know who it is? It even deserves thought? Come ON!  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
A number of things flashed through my mind at that moment. For a frightening second, I believed that it had been Cole Kennedy saying that to me. That he'd followed me back to Carmel, when I'd been trying to escape, not only my life, but him as well. I was scared that he'd come after me when he'd realized that I had tried to run away, and that he was going to make me sorry. I was scared, because I was so scared of him. What had happened to me? Where was this fearless, valiant Suze Simon? The resident bad girl, punk ass bitch? Where did she go? What happened to her?  
  
. . . She died a long time ago.  
  
She died when Jesse left her.  
  
This was who I was now.  
  
Some stupid shell . . .  
  
But no. In the moment where a full-blown dismay had rocketed from my stomach upwards, I was hit with the recognition. The realization. Yeah, I recognized that voice. The one that made my heart beat that little bit faster, and made my blood run just a little bit colder, and a dread to set heavily in me.  
  
And realization? Well, I realized that of COURSE he'd be here. I couldn't believe that I'd never thought of it before. I'd never even considered he'd really, truly come back here, you know? That he'd have the nerve too, after what had happened . . .  
  
But he was here. God, he was here. He was standing right behind me, wasn't he?  
  
'Paul, hi! You're back!' his younger brother beamed happily.  
  
Paul. Paul Slater. The one who'd ruined it all for me . . . for me and Jesse.  
  
I went as stiff as a dead cat.  
  
Paul . . .  
  
He ignored his brother, of course. Had he ever paid attention to the little guy? With everything that happened, all Paul had ever done was ignore Jack, not care . . . Yeah, instead of replying to the happy greeting, I heard gradual footsteps. Not many, but enough to know that he'd made it halfway up the chapel's aisle.  
  
'Well, this is interesting. I wasn't expecting such a surprise. Maybe I should come here more often,' he said in an amused drawl, one that chilled every nerve in my body.  
  
I had no idea what he meant by that. All I knew was that I was NOT turning around. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that my face was sculpted to an expression of chaste horror. And yeah, pain.  
  
Because those memories were bombarding me, making my world spin dangerously off axis. Those memories, they were the ones I'd been running from for the past pathetic five years of my wasted life.  
  
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
  
Big Sur, one lovely place to be at night. Especially after enjoying the lovely sunset. Most of the teenagers in Carmel refer to it as 'The Point', the key make out spot in the whole Carmel-By-The-Sea area. And I was there with Paul Slater. A little odd, I agree. What's even worse? I was in his arms, lying on the ground trying to breathe.  
  
It's not what it seems...it really isn't. Hit by the overwhelming fact that the love of my life would rather stay here than go with me, I had no choice but to get out and try really hard to forget about him. That is part of the reason I was laying on the ground . . . I nearly fainted. Paul brought it up . . . he knew about this. He knew Jesse was going to do that to me. He wanted him to. It was all so overwhelming that I just collapsed to the ground, heroically caught by Paul Slater himself. So that brings me to my current and very compromising situation.  
  
'This sucks,' I tell Paul while I desperately gasp for air. 'Everything sucks now.'  
  
'I know, I know,' Paul tried to calm me down. But nothing that he would do could ever fix it. And who was he to try to calm me down? He was part of the problem. I closed my eyes, only to open them when Paul called my name.  
  
'What?' I asked with annoyance. I was really tired and oxygen wasn't really getting to my brain. Paul wouldn't let me sleep because apparently blood would not flow to my brain and then I really would pass out.  
  
'I . . . I'm sorry.'  
  
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I didn't know whether or not to believe him. It was pretty hard for me to believe that a guy that has tried for two years to ruin my life would apologize once it had all train- wrecked.  
  
'Say something, will you?' he pleaded with me. His grip was tightening, adding to my oxygen problems.  
  
'Why should I?' I asked him viciously. 'To make you feel better? So you don't have to feel guilty?'  
  
With that I muster the strength to stand up and brush myself off. We were next to his car, which was parked near the land marker.  
  
I used the car to sturdy myself as I said with a laugh, 'I'm going home. Hell, I don't even know the way home. If I get lost . . . well, my bad. But it'll be your bad too, won't it? Funny.' I began walking as fast as my legs would take me.  
  
'Suze, stop,' Paul commanded me as he ran to catch up, which wasn't very far to catch up to because I was a little slow in my dizzied walking. I didn't stop for him though. It took me most of my strength, but I kept on walking . . . ignoring him.  
  
Instead I said, 'It's a long way. Seventeen-Mile Drive. My bad again.'  
  
'You can't handle the fact that I'm right, can you?' Paul spat, ignoring my previous comment.  
  
Ignoring is the name of the game now, folks. We both seemed to be pretty good at it.  
  
'I still don't trust you. Not after everything. And I don't forgive you,' I breezed on by as if I were only talking to myself. 'I never will, Paul. You go live with that, okay?'  
  
Paul ignored me . . . again. 'Suze, don't leave. You're tired and scared right now.'  
  
Well, it's pretty hard to ignore someone when they accuse you of something you are not capable of. I guess it's the Ignoring game over.  
  
'I'm not scared! I'm not scared of anything! I'm—I'm like Wonderwoman or something.'  
  
'I understand. I'll take you home right away,' Paul said. Leave it up to Paul to never quit . . . even when he's won. He still ignored everything I said. God.  
  
'No,' I stop quickly, 'You're not taking me anywhere.'  
  
'I'll walk with you,' he told me, STILL ignoring me. 'I'm not letting you walk alone. Not at this hour.'  
  
'Go back to your posh little BMW and eat those fancy-smancy Salt and Vinegar chips,' I hissed. 'And while you're at it, you can think of the one thing a rich snob like you can't have. Me. Get away from me, Paul Slater, or so help me God I'll . . . '  
  
'Fuck you, Suze,' Paul growled rather loudly at me. He . . . he told me to . . . UGH! He had the gall to ruin my life and then try to tell me that. Well . . .  
  
'Fuck YOU, Paul,' I spat back at him, returning the favor.  
  
'You know what?' Paul snarled, 'I'm not sorry. Not anymore.'  
  
'Good,' I told him, 'Neither am I. For this . . . ' I raised my right fist and socked him one straight in his ever-targeted nose. He spun back, and let out a yell of animosity. I smiled at him a little bit. 'Did that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?' I asked, pouting at him with hard eyes.  
  
'I wanted Jesse gone. You're right,' he told me, his voice all muffled because he was holding the bridge of his nose. It wasn't bleeding, sadly. But at least it gave him a scare . . . or maybe not.  
  
'And he's GONE,' I yell at him. 'Go celebrate! Go burn his portrait or whatever it is FREAKS like you do. I'm going. I don't care . . . I just don't care anymore.'  
  
'But Suze,' he was yet again ignoring me, 'I didn't want it if you were going to be like . . . like this.'  
  
'Like what?' I yelled, 'A blubbering mutant? A heinous bitch? Well, SORRY, it's all part of the package of ruining my life. Eat shit.'  
  
He looked a little taken aback, but not enough to keep himself from roaring my name loudly, causing me to wince as it echoed throughout The Point. Thunderclouds were drawing in over us as if Paul himself cued them with his anger.  
  
'I cared about you. A whole lot,' he told me, his voice dropped a few decibels. 'But now I . . . '  
  
'That's so sweet. Past tense? Okay, see ya around,' I said as I began walking again, nose high in the air.  
  
'Wait,' he commanded me, 'You need to hear this.'  
  
'NO,' I screamed as I continued to walk, 'I don't!'  
  
'YES,' he yelled back, 'You do.'  
  
'I really . . . 'I started off, but I never got to finish it because Paul tackled me to the ground, landing on top of me. I'm pretty sad to report that it kind of crushed me and furthermore prevented me from breathing properly. Stupid jerk . . . what was so important that he had to tackle me to have me hear it?  
  
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
  
'Suze? Oi, Suze? You spacing out or something?' Jack asked me blithely, grinning.  
  
I blinked and shook my head, trying to shake those visions out of my mind.  
  
'Jack, I just remembered something I had to um . . . do,' I breathed. 'I'll see you later, okay?'  
  
'Wait, Suze! Aren't you going to Mass?' Jack asked with a little disappointment as he stood by me. 'That's what you said-'  
  
'Jack, shut up,' I hissed at him. My heart was racing in my chest, gravity threatening me with each step. And though my heart was fast, my movements were slow . . . too slow. I made my way, little by little, to the exit, not even turning to look back. If I did, my worst nightmares would be confirmed. That nightmare? That neither time nor distance could rid me of Paul Slater.  
  
'Jack, go to class,' Paul's commanding voice, though not addressed to me, stopped me dead in my tracks. I shivered reluctantly.  
  
Jack protested, 'But-'  
  
'Jack,' Paul said his name firmly, not at all lovingly or brotherly. 'Just do it.'  
  
I couldn't move. Not a bit. Not after hearing how that voice had deepened even further, how it had so much authority and amusement now. It was paralyzing. I felt immobilized on the spot. As if, neither running away or staying would help, and so I settled for not moving. It was awful to feel like this again. I thought that these experiences had been kissed goodbye long ago.  
  
But as do ghosts, memories will haunt you.  
  
With less mercy.  
  
'You know what, Jack?' I said suddenly, my voice producing a distantly familiar squeak – resembling one that had been present in my tones five years ago, 'I'll come too. It can be like a field trip for me, only . . . uh, no permission slips, okay?' Please Jack, I pleaded in my mind. Please do something. Please save me from your psycho older brother. I'm sorry for thinking you were a freak and mentally comparing you to your seemingly normal brother. I now see the error of my ways. Please help . . .  
  
Jack shuffled over to me. 'Hey, Suze, I can handle it,' murmured, and gave me a small smile. 'Don't mind my brother, he's always being bossy with me. You don't have to come with me, I can deal.' That's not what I meant! I wasn't even trying to look after him this time! Um, beg to DIFFER?  
  
But he just WALKED OUT OF THE CHURCH.  
  
I didn't even bother turning around. I could tell, though. I heard the quick, light footsteps, and the creek of the door, and then the door slamming back into place.  
  
And then I heard silence.  
  
Oh God. It was a quietness that hugged at me tightly, in an asphyxiating way, not an affectionate one. It siphoned the confidence I had in myself, and my nerve. A heavy blanket of dread and vulnerability seemed to stifle me. Everything was so hot, and – and stuffy . . . God . . . I stared emphatically up at the statue of the Virgin Mary. She looked at me stonily.  
  
Susie has sinned . . .  
  
I glared at the statue. Didn't cry any tears of blood for ME when I graduated. Yeah, so nah, nah. The statue is malfunctioning . . . stupid statue. That holy face just glared back at me, with those big innocent eyes and a small smile. Smiling? At a time like this? The monster that ruined whatever chance of a good life I had . . . he was only a few feet away. And you're SMILING? Couldn't you just, I don't know, yell for help or something?  
  
Good, Suze. Give no regard to evil loser who is standing behind you. Ignore him. Yep, he don't exist. He's a figment of your stupid imagination. He's like a cloud, or something. Say, 'hello cloud' so it will then float away –  
  
'It's been a long time, Suze.'  
  
That's what the cloud – I mean, Paul said. Just that. Stated the fact that I hadn't had to look at his ugly face for a space of time. I mean, hell, I wanted him to go, but if he was going to say something, it could have at least been GOOD. I mean, this guy had a lot of groveling to do before he even suspected that I would even bother talking to him. After everything he did. How he ruined it all for me . . .  
  
But, oh. When he spoke . . . my stomach went haywire. His voice sounded so deadly. It totally seized my guts and twisted it until I was sure my stomach would no longer digest food anymore. Oh, great. Now he had made sure I couldn't eat. Well, thanks a buuuuunch, Paul.  
  
A long time . . .  
  
'Not long enough, obviously,' I replied, finding my voice after seemingly decades of searching. Cold, hard eyes of the statue of the Virgin Mother Mary . . . 'You're going to hell,' they said to me.  
  
I'm already there . . .  
  
I heard him chuckle, and my muscles reacted with total seizure. Every inch of my body was hard as rock, I was straining so much to run from there. But I couldn't move. I wanted to, but I couldn't! I was completely frozen, like those prehistoric Neanderthals they found not too long ago. I watched something about them on the Discovery Channel, since I couldn't very well hear about them from Doc because of my five-year absence from his life.  
  
'So, how are things, Suze?' he said with a small laugh. '. . . Was is worth it?'  
  
My face creased in anger. He was doing it . . . he knew it all, and he was going to make me feel it. Give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd won . . . he was making me hurt, all over again. 'Don't –' I began coldly, but his voice cut me off with a sharp determination, entwined with an underlying, cruel amusement.  
  
'Don't what?' his reply was cannoned back. 'It's a simple question, Suze.' Oh God, no . . . do you HEAR HIM? The way he acted! It was as if nothing had ever happened! It was vile, and EVIL! What is WRONG with him?!  
  
'Turn around, Suze. Let me get a good look at you.'  
  
Look at me . . .  
  
My blood ran even colder, almost reaching the icicle stage. 'You have some nerve,' I whispered, my voice laden with bitterness and hatred. All could hear it. It was harsh, and raw.  
  
Hail Mary, full of grace . . .  
  
'Come on, Suze,' he beckoned me with that entrancing voice. He was like the Pied Piper or something . . . playing on his stupid pipe leading me around the town like a stupid rat. I hate annoying pipe music. I hate rats. I hate poetry.  
  
'It's been forever since we've seen each other. At least turn and look at me. I won't bite,' Paul promised.  
  
Yeah that's right you won't. I swear if you come another inch closer to me, I'll make sure you won't have any teeth to bite me with. Who do you think you are . . . Justin frigging Timberlake, or something? Ha . . . if I only had the nerve to say any of this to him. But no . . . I felt like I was going to start shaking. Quivering like a little girl in the face of a huge threatening dog . . . with huge teeth. But that's all I still was, wasn't it? I was a little girl. Young at heart. I had grown up, physically maybe. But emotionally, I was still shielding myself from the cruel, heartless world behind a mature, collected face. I was still the girl that I'd left back home. And now, I'd found her again. I was picking right up from where I left off.  
  
I just didn't want this picking up to involve Paul Slater, you know?  
  
'I have every right to do 'this'. We are not on speaking terms by any means, Paul,' I said as I closed my eyes tightly. When I didn't hear any footsteps behind me I added, 'Go away.'  
  
'Suze,' Paul said my name with, I'm sorry to report, a certain edge that hacked into me. 'We're adults now. No more silly games, okay?'  
  
Okay, that really set me off. It infuriated me that this was all just a silly game to him. Five years down the drain, and it was all a stupid game? What did that make me? A little game-piece or something, controlled by Paul?  
  
I turned around in my anger and said, 'Silly games? You think THIS is . . . '  
  
Whoa. I mean it . . . whoa. It was hard to believe that this . . . this man standing in front of me used to be someone that I feared and loathed with every inch of my body five years ago. He looked older, more mature, very confident in his ways. But he still had that power-hungry gleam in his eye, ready to take anything and everything he wanted. He was dressed to the nines with this dark colored suit, holding a briefcase (!) by his side. He no longer had that perfect head of brown curls. His hair was now styled with such professional perfection so typical of Paul. On his chin, there was a small patch of hair . . . a little goatee if you will. But it wasn't tacky or anything. It made him look . . . hot. No, hot is not the word. Definitely not hot. Hot can't even compare to Paul Slater. His whole demeanor was radiating with a darkness that appealed to me so greatly. I couldn't see into him. His eyes masked his mind, and it was impossible to deduce if he'd changed, or what his intentions were. It all felt different . . . but five years was a long time for someone to try and remember something.  
  
Although, everything about Paul seemed to be burnt into my mind, painfully.  
  
But holy crap.  
  
I couldn't help but stare at this . . . at this divine creature standing right in front of my eyes. Or is divine still not enough? Mother Mary was probably sobbing now for my impure thoughts.  
  
'What were you saying?' Paul asked with a smile so white that it stood out in the dark Church. He still had that charming smile. I'm shocked no one punched it out yet. You'd think, by now, someone would have realized what a creep he was. I mean, he may SEEM like a normal hottie by day but at night he was . . .  
  
Um . . . yeah, I didn't really want to think about that. Ew.  
  
'I . . . um . . . I said that . . . ' I trailed off in awe. My lips had suddenly gone dry, so I licked them only to find that my whole mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert . . . licking them was useless. I guess that could also explain why no words were escaping my mouth. Something was happening to me, and from what I guessed, it wasn't all that great. My heart was going in slow motion thudding painfully in my chest. My face was burning hot, while the rest of my body was ice cold. My throat began to tickle, while my stomach was twisting in a painful jolt.  
  
'Never mind, then,' Paul dismissed the subject as a king would dismiss a servant. With superiority, and apathy. 'Jack said you were going to the Mass today. Have you changed your mind?'  
  
'Um . . . '  
  
I just stared at him. I couldn't possibly say anything to him . . . not when my mouth was so dry and my throat developed such a huge lump in it. I came up with one simple conclusion to why my body was deciding betray me. I hate him. I hate his perfect little guts. Not even his new charming look could draw me away from that small little fact. The memories were just too strong . . . too terrible.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'What ARE you?' I yelled at him as I struggled to push him off me. 'Get off me! NOW!'  
  
'This is important,' he warned me through gritted teeth, 'So you better hear me out.'  
  
'No, get off—,'  
  
'Back then I cared for you,' he reminded me. 'But now I . . . I love you.'  
  
'Don't,' I pleaded. 'Please . . . '  
  
'Yes, Susannah Simon, I love you,' he proclaimed loudly, making sure it echoed back to me a few times. Sometimes I just hate Mother Nature. Stupid echo effect . . .  
  
'That's what HE said,' I choked, 'And . . . he left. And you're going too, and . . . NO.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'You okay, Suze? You look a little pale,' Paul's amused drawl dragged me away from my thoughts. He was obviously enjoying this . . . way more than I was. There was something hidden beneath his face. Something he wasn't letting reach the surface. It was secretive, and dark. He had that stupid smirk on his face that seemed to say, 'Ha ha, I've got you now little Susie'. As if!  
  
'Shut up,' I tell him venomously. 'What the hell are you doing in here? The Church is holy ground. You don't deserve to be here. Get out.'  
  
'Suze . . . what happened . . . that was so long ago,' he told me. Well DUH . . . I could've told you THAT. Lookee who's Mr. Obvious. 'It's done . . . over with. We were young and . . . and hormonal. Let it go.'  
  
Let it go? LET IT GO? Five years standing alone . . . on my own, without anyone . . . and he just expects me to LET IT GO? Well, guess what? I'll never let go, Paul . . . I'll never let go!  
  
'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' I asked him viciously.  
  
Paul frowned a bit, and straightened his tie. A TIE FOR GOD'S SAKE. And not just any tie . . . it was one of those high-class Burberry ties. And what did I have back at home? An ugly green Starbucks apron. With coffee stains.  
  
Hell . . . I still reeked of coffee.  
  
'Why the hell are you wearing . . . well, that?' I asked. I couldn't very well call it rags or ugly or anything. Because the suit he was wearing was neither of those my friends. He always seemed to have a certain flair for all things fashionable . . . even when he was a despicable teenager. His taste in clothes, sadly, had possibly even become better over the years. Very unfortunate indeed for me, because nothing is better than a hot man with great taste. Do you hear something? Tears shedding? Oh great.  
  
'Just got back from work,' Paul said with a grin. Work . . . hah, very funny. 'I'm an intern for a prestigious law firm while I'm finishing law school.' My eyebrows shot up. Waaaay up.  
  
'Law school? What, you found a job to suit you, did you?' I asked incredulously, shaking my head and the irony. 'Someone that keeps terrible people from where they belong. Why does that not surprise me?'  
  
It would have been funny if Paul went, 'I object, your honor!' or something, but I had a feeling he was not going to try to be funny. Of course, something was obviously funny for him because he was smiling at me. I just insulted him and he SMILED AT ME. I might as well be punching a 400-pound man in the beer gut.  
  
'What have you been doing with your life?' he breezed, totally ignoring my blow. A look of such arrogance was plastered across his flawless features. Oh, they had been beautiful before, but now . . . everything was older, and grown into and everything. Such dark perfection . . . so off limits.  
  
My cheeks began flushing as I replied, 'None of your business.' I tried to move . . . to run away, but I couldn't. My brain kept shouting at my legs to pick up and move, but they didn't obey. My body began to take over and do its own thing. The little guy in the rolly chair that controlled my brain took a coffee break. At Starbucks probably. After all, Starbucks was the "premier purveyor of the finest coffee in the world", right?  
  
He asked me again, 'What do you do?' It felt like he could hear what I was thinking . . . but not from any shifter powers he may have possessed. No, he was linked to my mind on a whole different level. A level that sent clenching shivers rallying up my poor, victimized spine.  
  
'Um . . . me?' I asked as I swallowed hard. He couldn't know that I worked at Starbucks. He just couldn't. Not when he was an intern at a LAW FIRM. That would be saying that he won . . . again. I am not one to admit defeat. And I'm certainly not one to present the evidence against me case.  
  
He'd totally appreciate the lawyer references, right? Oh, go team.  
  
'Is there anyone else here that I don't know about?' Paul asked as he scanned the chapel. When he didn't find anyone, he looked back at me sharply. I had to come up with a pretty good lie. But everyone knows I can't lie very well. I'm terrible at it. But Paul Slater just could NOT know what I really did. COULD NOT!  
  
'I'm um . . . a secretary in a very highly paid position at a . . . fashion thingie,' I told him. He didn't seem to buy that though, so I added, 'Did I mention it was highly paid?'  
  
'Fashion thingie . . . Interesting,' Paul said as he nodded his head. 'Wow. I'm impressed.'  
  
'Well you should be,' I told him as I placed my hands on my hips, 'because you'll be seeing my name in lights soon. Or on . . . um, clothing labels or something. Oh wait, I'm secretary, aren't I? Well . . . uh . . . '  
  
'What's your major?' Paul asked with a grin. Gosh, that is such a typical line. Almost as bad as 'What's you sign?' except not as obvious or stupid.  
  
'Psychology,' I replied as I narrowed my eyes, 'Not like you care.'  
  
Have you ever said something to someone, hoping that it was true? Well, that was pretty much how I felt then. I told him he didn't care because I really didn't want him to. I wanted him to just breeze on by as if I were nothing. Which is what I was . . . nothing, no one at all. I wanted him to leave because at the time, I really couldn't muster myself to do so. There was an awkward silence that ensued . . . but I just left it. Maybe if he figured I hadn't gotten anymore interesting over the past five years, maybe he would just go away.  
  
Maybe that was a little too much to ask for.  
  
'Wow. Haven't been here in awhile,' Paul noticed as he looked around the old chapel. 'Hasn't changed, has it?'  
  
'Some things don't change, Paul,' I told him coldly.  
  
He let out an exasperated sigh. 'Suze . . . '  
  
'What?' I demanded. Further proof that he hasn't changed. He still thinks he can try to reason me.  
  
'I've moved on,' he told me as he took a step closer, 'Why can't you?'  
  
See? See what I mean? I shouldn't have to keep convincing you of what a jerk he is. I just have to keep convincing myself . . . ((INSERT FLASHBACK AT HOSPITAL))  
  
I didn't say anything to Paul for awhile. I couldn't. Of course he was able to move on. He wasn't left all alone and scared in a hospital now was he? He wasn't promised anything, only having it taken away from his grasp.  
  
'Don't make this hard on me, please,' he rolled his eyes.  
  
How . . .how did he do that? See me, in this limbo that I forever lived in, and then turn the tables and make it seem like it was really HIM suffering? How could anyone endure the burden on knowing that they were denying another the compassion that they needed? It just wasn't human nature, how he was acting. So cold. Cold, like ice.  
  
'Yeah, well I wasn't the one who ruined YOUR life now was I?' I hissed, still shivering at the chill that was caressing me frostily.  
  
Paul was silent . . . he even looked away. I actually got him to shut up for once, which was quite an accomplishment. But . . . then why did it make me feel so bad? Oh wait, I have a conscience.  
  
'Hard on you?' My whisper still filled the empty chapel with a vehement silence. My mouth was hanging open a small way. I just couldn't believe him. That he could still try and turn everything on me, and expect me to feel sorry for him. AND I WAS! That was what he was making me think! That he deserved my sympathy! FOR WHAT, GOD DAMN IT?! I doubt that HE was living the hard-knock life, with his feisty friends over at his prissy princess Law School. 'How could you THINK I even cared about you after EVERYTHING?' I demanded, when again, I found myself trapped in another memory, and screaming to run away –  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'I'm not going to leave you,' Paul promised, as he lowered his voice to a peaceful calm. For a second there, he almost sounded believable. Note how I said ALMOST.  
  
'You say that,' I started to sob, 'But you don't mean it. No one EVER means it.'  
  
Paul raised his right hand and slapped me across the face with it. It burned my cheek for a few seconds after, but I didn't let it bother me. I've felt worse pain emotionally.  
  
'Don't you ever say that,' he growled at me, and I could feel it shudder throughout his body. It was still conveniently on top of mine.  
  
'Love isn't real,' I told him viciously, my teeth gritted as I battled to fight the surging emotions that were possessing me, 'It's not REAL.'  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'You're nothing,' I murmured, essentially to myself. 'Nothing . . . '  
  
That was something I've wanted to tell him for the past five years. That he meant nothing to me. But I had to convince myself of it before I could shout it out to him. That's why it only came out in a lowly whisper.  
  
Paul's eyes were no longer on me; instead they were fixed on the ground. He mumbled something quite inaudible so I asked, 'What did you say?'  
  
'It took me awhile to get over it too,' he said, this time just a little louder but still on the soft side. He looked back up at me, his ice blue eyes pleading.  
  
I blinked up at him and then shuffled a bit. I was at a total loss for words again. I looked around the chapel . . . anywhere other than meeting Paul's eyes.  
  
He looked down again and said, 'I can admit that it troubled me. But I got over it. Except . . . well, its hard to run away when it keeps being shoved in my face.'  
  
'What?' I asked defensively, a wave of fresh fury splashing down, 'I haven't been NEAR you. God no –'  
  
'I know,' Paul interrupted, his voice so low I could barely hear him. He may have known but I don't think I'd ever understand him.  
  
'Well, what do you mean?'  
  
We were now on either side of the aisle, walking down it. The chapel was not a big place, let me tell you, so there wasn't very far to walk. We stopped walking once we reached the altar, and Paul turned to face me.  
  
'You haven't changed a bit, Suze,' he talked down to me since he was still taller than I was. 'You still want to believe what you want to believe. Open your eyes.'  
  
I turned on my heel to face him and said, 'I don't get you. I never have. You're, like, ungettable. Uh . . . in the, um, understanding sense, I mean.'  
  
Why was I rambling on like that? Why was my face so hot, when everything else felt so cold? My nerves were completely fried, especially as Paul took a step closer to me. I tried to move backwards, but my feet were cemented to the ground.  
  
'Suze,' he said my name with such calm that it could put a baby to sleep. Permanently. 'You can't keep living in the past.'  
  
'I . . . I live where I live,' I spluttered. 'It suits me.'  
  
'Does it?' he questioned, eyebrows high and smile crooked. 'Or has it made you miserable? Don't lie, Susie. It's a sin.'  
  
He had me trapped. I was right where he wanted me to be. In between the lies I've told myself, and the not-so-pleasant truth that advanced on me, stalking me and watching me from the shadows.  
  
Where does he get off?!  
  
'I thought that maybe those old feelings would be anchored by now. I was hoping that maybe . . . ' he paused, smiling in a sickly amused way that felt like a whip crack on my burdened back, 'Maybe we could be friends. Or maybe we could learn to tolerate each other. But Suze, it's hard when you keep being bitter about it.'  
  
He was not serious.  
  
'It,' I laughed bitterly, 'You keep calling it 'it'. Tell me, Paul, what was this 'it' that you did? Tell me in detail. I want YOU to remember. I want YOU to decide whether I should be over something like THAT.'  
  
'Suze,' he pleaded as he looked away, 'don't. I don't want to look back.'  
  
Just as I thought. The bastard didn't even want to look back. It was okay for ME to feel bad about something, but when it was HIS turn, he tried to run away. Freaking coward . . .  
  
I finally had him where he always had me. Locked down, feeling lower than dirt. I grinned at him. 'I want you to. You need to understand. And if you ever do, you're going to get a rude awakening. Because when you do, that's when you'll feel. Ha, feel. Real human emotion. Yeah, that'll be a shocker.'  
  
He shot me a dirty look and spat, 'Fine. You want to go strolling down Memory Lane?' I felt the fire in his voice . . . the same fire that somehow managed to freeze my heart and mind. The only things that the fire burned were the emotions inside of me.  
  
'Yeah,' I replied with a dirty look of my own. 'You need some exercise . . . or exorcising I should say.'  
  
Paul swiftly turned us around so our backs were facing the altar. He placed his arm over my shoulder and we began strolling down the aisle slowly. I felt horribly numb. Like this was just another memory, a nightmare. I couldn't come to terms with the fact that Paul Slater had the nerve to make physical contact.  
  
'It, happened that one night . . . a beautiful night in Carmel, California,' he started his story off. 'One special enough to share with a special girl. I knew a girl that qualified . . . so I invited her to come enjoy it with me.'  
  
I began to blush a little bit. I looked away so that maybe I could hide it. Not that I really could. I can't seem to get anything past this guy.  
  
'So we went to Big Sur,' he continued with that same amused grin he sprouted when he set eyes on me again, 'a very nice place, especially at sunset. We laughed, we fought, we kissed, we fought, I trapped the stubborn girl in my car, we got out of the car, we fought, we kissed, more fighting, more kissing . . . well, it's just like The Never Ending Story, really. Except with trips to Shadowland and the hospital.'  
  
. . . Oh God. When he put it that way, it just seemed like everything really was my fault . . . Maybe it was? Maybe I've been blaming Paul for so long, that I really should have shifted all the blame a little closer to home? I'm so terrible. I deserve to feel this hurt, don't? I? Go on, say it. I deserve it. All of it. I'd kissed him back . . . because Jesse had gone. I was scared, and lonely again. So I went to him . . . I always ran back to him . . . all the time. But it was no excuse. Shit . . . this really WAS all of my fault . . .  
  
'That's enough of Memory Lane, I think,' I said as I stopped in the middle of the aisle, Paul's arm still around me. I really wanted to push his arm off and rip it out of its socket brutally – with as little bloodshed as possible so I wouldn't get anything on my clothes - but my body was still betraying me. Traitorous arms, I'll get 'em chopped off, next opportunity.  
  
'Oh really?' Paul asked snidely. 'But you've called it home for so long –'  
  
'Shut up,' I told him softly, my eyes suddenly becoming sore. I would not cry, I told myself. Not in front of Paul Slater. Never . . .  
  
'Well?' Paul asked as he used the arm that was not around my shoulder to turn my face towards his. 'Do you want to continue the story?'  
  
It's already playing in my mind, I wanted to tell him. It has for a very long time . . .  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Get off me!' I shrieked again. I wanted to get away . . . I wanted to wake up from this nightmare.  
  
'Suze,' Paul's voice said as it regained its softness, 'I really do.'  
  
Paul Slater, by God, if you knew what was best for you, you wouldn't say that to me. Not when it's just a big fat lie. I promise that you'll probably break . . . a false hope that will only leave me burned in the end.  
  
'Get off me NOW!' I shouted. 'You don't mean it. He said that too. He didn't mean it either. And now he's gone'  
  
'How the hell do you know?' Paul snarled, striking me with fear.  
  
'Because I KNOW!' I shouted as I gasped to keep away the tears. He was crushing me, and the rocks on the paved road were sinking into my back. But that wasn't the real reason I was crying.  
  
'That's not good enough,' he said as he grabbed my shoulders and shook me, allowing temporary relief from the rocks.  
  
'You can't love me,' I said as tears began to gather in my eyes, 'I'm just Suze.'  
  
JUST SUZE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..  
  
When I didn't say anything, Paul dropped his hands and went to go sit on a pew. I looked blankly ahead for awhile until I remembered that this was reality, so I followed suit and sat next to him.  
  
He placed his hand on mine and said, 'Isn't Memory Lane a terrible place to live?'  
  
I nodded dumbly, still facing forward, not wanting to look at him. I could actually imagine Memory Lane as a small block with only one lonely house on it, located at the top of a hill. It would be a dark house, rather run- down and tired looking . . . said to be haunted. And the owner of the house? A cold-hearted old lady who had a terrible life, so she has to make other people's lives miserable.  
  
'But you have a choice,' he reminded me as he squeezed my hand, 'You can move out. Any time.'  
  
I shook my head miserably. I didn't think I could. I began breathing deeply, hoping that each breath could cleanse me from everything. No, the old lady keeper of the house on Memory Lane cruelly locked me in the basement. I came in, but I could never leave.  
  
'You can,' he assured me as he turned to face me. 'It takes awhile. Maybe . . . maybe if we remember one last time, we can let it go.'  
  
I took a deep breath and looked at him. I was staring my past straight in the eye. Paul was a good friend with the old lady. He had been in the dark, creepy house too. But he had the key out of there. But the key to getting out was forgetting what happened. It was a little painful, but I closed my eyes and remembered . . . for the sake of forgetting.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..  
  
I moaned in frustration. 'Just . . . GET . . . off . . . ME! Please!' I shrieked as I struggled under him.  
  
But I can guarantee you that I stopped struggling, when all of a sudden he pressed his body against mine and kissed me, pushing me deeply into the road beneath us. And I didn't even hesitate to respond. Oh, respond I did . . . more than that even. This kiss seemed to blow all of the other ones he gave me out of the water.  
  
Being crushed into the road under a well-built eighteen-year-old while trying to kiss them was really hard. I was panting for air. He took that as a hint and he supported the back of my head with his hand, allowing me to get in a quick catch-breath. For some reason, my head was throbbing. I didn't know if it was because the lack of oxygen, or if it was just the intensity of the kiss. Either of the explanations fit, but it was mostly the latter.  
  
Then all of a sudden he pried his lips off of mine long enough to whisper, 'Now do you get it? I love you.'  
  
'You . . . you say that you do,' I breathed heavily, 'But . . . '  
  
I didn't get to continue what I was going to say, because he decided to continue kissing me. Heck, I even forgot what I was going to say to him. His kiss seemed to say 'No buts, Suze' and mine seemed to answer 'Fine by me'.  
  
I was getting so involved in this kiss that I was kissing back with a force equal to, if not greater than Paul's was. I found one of my arms behind his neck, while the other one was entangled in his head full of perfectly silken curls.  
  
'Paul don't . . . ' I pleaded but then trailed off as I began kissing him, again and again. I couldn't see why I was trying to get him to stop especially when I was the one kissing him now. His hands began wandering now, which was surprising since they had been numb a while back since I made him sit on them for so long, due to my mistrust of him.  
  
I can't very well tell you lies. And I would be lying to you if I told you that I hated every minute of it. And since I'm no liar, I'll just flat out say . . . I loved Paul's kisses so, so much. The rough pavement kind of poked me through Paul's brown leather coat, which he had offered me earlier because I was cold . . . but it somehow didn't matter. Maybe it would have bothered me if it were my expensive leather coat and not his. Why was I thinking of cow skin at a moment like this?  
  
'I can't . . . ' I tried telling him, 'This isn't . . . '  
  
I was trying to tell him that I couldn't do this. It wasn't real. Sure Paul felt something for me, and I felt something back . . . but it wasn't love. What Jesse and I had . . . that was love. But . . . was it? After all, if it were love, then why wouldn't Jesse agree to come with me? Why would he hurt me like that? Suddenly I became so scared . . . scared that those words that Jesse had said to me so many times were wrong. And now Paul was going to do the same thing.  
  
'Paul,' I breathed as I managed to wrestle my lips from his for a few seconds. 'Don't make me feel this again. I . . . I don't want to . . . be hurt anymore.'  
  
Paul's icy blue eyes looked deep into mine, penetrating me. 'I won't,' he promised in barely a whisper. And then he continued kissing me, sealing this covenant. We stopped when we felt a few drops of rain sprinkle down on us. I relaxed and lay back down, gathering my air. My head was throbbing and my heart was pounding in my chest. I closed my eyes and soaked it up like a sponge.  
  
'It's raining,' Mr. Obvious stated as he made himself a human umbrella for me. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. It all hit me right then and there what I just did. I felt so cold . . . so terrible. My stomach churned in self-disgust.  
  
'I . . . I have to go home,' I told him, my breath shuddering. 'Andy had dinner ready hours ago, and I didn't tell anyone I was coming out here. Andy's a great cook and I don't want to miss out, and neither does our dog, Max. He eats the stuff I accidentally drop, you know. And mom's probably worried sick, and what if Jesse came back and I wasn't there and . . . '  
  
It was useless trying to explain myself. And not just because I'm not that great at coming up with excuses. I'd be better at them if people didn't keep on interrupting me with earth shattering kisses. I really do mean earth shattering . . . I could feel the world as I knew it falling to pieces as the rain fell on me.  
  
Us.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Suze?' Paul asked, drawing me away again from my thoughts yet again.  
  
I realized that he had been trying to say something for awhile. I'd been staring, with what was probably a really half-witted expression on my face, at nothing again. 'Sorry . . . what?' I asked as I licked my dry lips.  
  
'If it hurts too much,' he repeated, looking all mysterious, 'then we don't have to look back. We can stay a day ahead of yesterday. We can look ahead.'  
  
I felt my breathing quicken as my heart sped up. Was he asking me to . . . be his friend? Oh, God . . . We were never really friends to begin with. When he stepped into my life, everything went dangerously fast. Things were slowing down when he exited my life . . . for what I thought would be for good. But the question was . . . which life did I like better? Was I ready to be his friend? Could I ever do that? I stood up quickly, too afraid to confront those biting questions now.  
  
'I um . . . I gotta go,' I told him as I headed for the exit of the small chapel. But I couldn't escape Paul Slater because he gripped my upper arm and said, 'Suze wait.'  
  
I could never escape Paul Slater. He haunted me, still.  
  
By then I was feeling rather dizzy with confusion. Why did he have to be here? I completely forgot about my bad luck. Of course he'd be there . . . how could I have been so stupid? Why did I feel so horribly low? Like my spirit had been banished? Where was my passion to live? Where had it gone? Why did I feel like dry, frozen ice? Why was Paul doing this?! HOW COULD HE?!  
  
'Please?' He twirled me around to face him and I could feel my hair swishing gently at my arms. Ice. That's what I felt like. That's what was glaring at me. Irises composed of freezing ice. Dry ice . . . the kind that could, as Doc once told me, give me instant frostbite if I touched it for more than a few seconds.  
  
'No . . . not now,' I managed to say though my whole mouth was dry. I had no idea why I was reacting like this. It was like my immune system was kicking in, trying its hardest to kill off this virus. But viruses never quite leave the body, but they can be dormant for a long time . . . months, even years.  
  
I could tell Paul was getting really annoyed by the way he asked, 'If not here, then when?' Never . . . that's what I wanted to tell him.  
  
I stared at him blankly . . . really not knowing what to say. Coming back home was a bittersweet experience for me. It was comfortable and right . . . a place I loved. But the memories were so haunting. When I first stepped foot back home, I thought that they were gone. They were finally dying. Paul Slater showing up . . . well, he began feeding them again. And now they still alive inside of me.  
  
You can go strolling down Memory Lane whenever you like . . . but you can never leave . . .  
  
'You wanted to remember,' Paul said flatly, with an insouciant shrug. He still had a hold on my arm, so I really couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't run away. After so long of running, I was now trapped. And, by the very person that I had been running from . . .  
  
'I wanted YOU to remember,' I corrected him, 'not me. I remember everyday. Every. Single. Day.' There was a horribly sharp bite in my tone. I could feel it cutting the air. But not Paul. I could never touch Paul, in the torturing ways that I wanted to. He had a shield against me.  
  
'Why?' he asked me. Oh, like he didn't know. He was there . . . he HAD to know.  
  
I blinked at him, trying to think of a way to answer that question without divulging the information that I knew he could never discover, when with the force of a billion liters of water, the truth crushed me from within and came flooding out in a toxic babble.  
  
'Because I'm constantly thinking, what if I'd done something different? Would things have changed any? Was I supposed to feel like this all the time? Like I was a nobody, with no one that really cared about me? Because I feel that. I feel like that every minute. And that's what I've become. A nobody. I'm a stupid waitress with no life and—'  
  
I think there's this magical button on me somewhere that if you push it, I will start babbling beyond control. And Paul wasn't just lightly tapping it . . . he was pounding it with all his strength. I stood there, horrified with myself that I had accidentally revealed how weak I was. I basically told Paul Slater that my life was worth nothing. That if I just, you know, wasn't here tomorrow, it totally would not affect a single person. All because of him . . .  
  
'Suze, I don't get it,' Paul said as he shook his head. 'I thought you were –'  
  
It was me . . . I was the old lady. The keeper of the house on Memory Lane. The house was haunted . . . haunted by memories. I wasn't trapped there . . . I was living by my own free will. If anyone was trapped . . . it was Paul. He had managed to escape once . . . but could he again?  
  
I yanked at his iron grip trying to get away. I had to leave . . . get out before it was too late.  
  
'Wait . . . what did you think?' I asked as I stopped momentarily. Man, if he ever had any respect for me, he probably kissed it goodbye right about now. Ha, kissed it goodbye. Good one. Tell another?  
  
'Were you lying to me? I thought you said you were a secretary –'  
  
'What, and YOU don't lie?' I asked him sharply. 'You lied so much, from what I remember.'  
  
'How?' he snarled as his grip tightened on my arm angrily, 'PLEASE remind me.'  
  
'That whole love shit. And when you said that—'  
  
'Said what?' Paul's voice echoed like thunder in the small chapel.  
  
'That – '  
  
That you wouldn't leave. You told me you would never leave me. That you were different. That I could trust you to be there for me . . . when other people weren't . . .  
  
'That I, um, liked you back . . . in front of JESSE. Do you remember that, Paul? THAT was a lie. And you KNEW it.'  
  
'I was confused,' he replied coolly. 'You see, most people don't reciprocate kisses unless they at least liked them. You must not have hated me.'  
  
I bowed my head, ashamed of myself for being so stupid back then. I was also trying to hide my crimson cheeks in my newly formed hair cave.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
I was astonished that Jesse popped into the hospital room. I thought that since he hated me and didn't want to come with me to college and all, that he would surely leave me be. But he proved me wrong . . . he came to me. And now, he was kissing me. Which isn't really a bad thing. The thing is . . . I was sore and on painkillers and my mind was buzzing about the things that Paul said. And was he here at the hospital? No, he wasn't. He took me there, and I remember that they had to sic security on him. He probably realized that I was too much for him to handle.  
  
Back to the kissing . . . I couldn't help but feel bad. I mean, Jesse wouldn't come with me, but he was perfectly fine kissing me on hospital beds. Yeah, I see how t is. Not that I wasn't enjoying it . . . I really was. Maybe he'd change his mind.  
  
Maybe this was all too good to be true . . .  
  
Just then I heard the door open, and that voice that caused my heart permanent dread said, "Suze . . . are you . . . HOLY CRAP!"  
  
Jesse was shocked, and (sadly) ended the kiss abruptly. He turned about to face Paul, and I felt myself go extremely white.  
  
'Susannah,' Jesse said as he looked back to me suspiciously, 'What is this? Why is HE here?'  
  
'He—'  
  
'He what, Susannah?' Jesse asked as he hiked up the eyebrow with the scar. I was in trouble . . . I could feel the world about to tip over.  
  
'He was the one that—'  
  
'What did HE do?' Jesse asked again, this time glaring at Paul who looked extremely shocked.  
  
'NOTHING!' I yelled finally. 'Paul, just leave.'  
  
Paul tore his icy glare from Jesse and looked at me. There was a lot in that look. At first, his eyes softened but then they hardened again in anger and hurt. Paul finally spoke, 'THIS is how it's going to be . . . I told you that I—'  
  
'What is going on, Susannah?' Jesse asked again, this time not even looking at me. He was shooting Paul a deadly glare . . . equally matched by the one Paul had on his face . . . oh my, this is not going to be pretty. I was panicking because I knew something was going to get hurt. And no, I'm not talking about Jesse breaking Paul's nose again or anything. Although, Jesse in all of his anger, probably would. I'm talking about emotional hurt . . . oh man.  
  
'Well,' Paul said, looking straight past me, 'It was nice seeing you again, Jesse. I better go. You two carry on.'  
  
'Paul,' I pleaded, 'What's—'  
  
Jesse interrupted with, 'Did . . . did something happen between you two?'  
  
Oh shit. I was dead meat. The way Jesse looked at me when he said that . . . it was terrifying. He was angry at Paul, and probably even more angry at me.  
  
'Oh no,' Paul said as he grinned at me, 'It was nothing.'  
  
I could tell Paul had something up his sleeve. I sent him a silent message with my brain . . . Please don't . . .  
  
'Yeah,' Paul continued on, the grin disappearing from his face replaced by hurt, 'A big fat nothing . . . that's ALL it was.'  
  
'Nothing happened,' I said defensively, 'We just, um, bumped into each other at Church . . . yeah.'  
  
'Church . . . that's funny,' Paul said with a sick laugh, 'Is that what she told you, Jesse?'  
  
DON'T YOU DARE PAUL SLATER..DON'T DO IT!  
  
'Ignore him, Jesse,' I said, glaring at Paul viciously, 'he's being a dick. He's lying.'  
  
'I'M lying?' Paul asked innocently.  
  
I couldn't feel my stomach anymore . . . I couldn't fell anything anymore.  
  
'Well,' Paul said, that evil grin reappearing on his face. He went so much deeper than evil, though. It was past cruelty. Past everything I could have expected from him. 'If that's how you feel, then can I have my jacket back? The one I let you borrow at Big Sur?'  
  
No . . . no.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Paul reached out, and with his free hand, he pushed my hair behind my ears. 'I'm sorry things went down the way they did,' he apologized softly.  
  
'No you're not.'  
  
'Yes. I am,' he told me. 'We were young . . . we didn't know handle it, so it got blown out of proportion.'  
  
'Well I guess I'm still young, aren't I? I STILL don't know how to handle it, right? That's what you were going to say. Yeah . . . I thought so.' I refused to look at him. I refused to acknowledge his presence . . . or the fact that we were breathing the same air. Oh my, I'm breathing air that might have already been in his lungs, AGH!  
  
'If I was such a liar, then how come you can go around thinking that you know me?' Paul asked as he dropped my arm suddenly.  
  
'W-what do you mean?' I asked him. No wonder things never worked out between us. We were never on the same page . . . we never knew what the other was saying.  
  
'You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?'  
  
'I know enough,' I told him, 'I don't want to know the rest, by any means.'  
  
'Yeah right,' he said with a sarcastic chuckle. 'What do you know about Paul Slater, then?'  
  
I stared at him in outrage, as whirring thoughts buzzed relentlessly through my head . . . and they weren't exactly about his vices, either. I'm wicked, I know. Burnt me at the stake, please?  
  
'I - I'm going,' I spluttered, as I turned to walk away. I so could not handle this. I couldn't take the heat, so I had to get out of the kitchen before I got myself burned . . .  
  
Walk away, Suze . . . Run. Flee. Escape. Get out! First from New York, then Carmel, then Massachusetts, and now flee from home again . . . My life was a marathon that I'd never win. But I had to keep running, or things could catch up to me and drag me back down to the bottom. A place where I could not afford to be.  
  
'I knew it.'  
  
I stopped. 'What?'  
  
'You don't know half as much as you pretend to,' he said with a complacent grin. 'But then again, that's all you do. Pretend.'  
  
There he goes again with the button mashing . . .  
  
In fury, I exploded at him, 'I know that you're . . . that you're an obsessive winner! You can't stand losing! I know that you get angry easily, that you don't care what- or who- you hurt, as long as everything's good for YOU in the end! You're cynical, you don't trust people enough, you had a stupid prejudice against Jesse, and you used to like me . . . which was REALLY weird and . . . AND I DON'T PRETEND!'  
  
He just glared at me in response.  
  
'What?' I asked indignantly. 'Why are you looking at me like that? See? CYNICAL!'  
  
'What else are you going to say?' he asked through gritted teeth, 'That I don't have feelings? That I'm heartless? I know what you're thinking and . . . you're wrong.'  
  
'No, I'm not,' I told him. 'And I really don't think you've changed, either.'  
  
'I haven't?' Paul asked with surprise, his eyes riveted on me.  
  
'Sure you're dressed up in some fancy suit, got yourself some flashy job, and you're hair's really cute- um, different, but you haven't changed,' I snapped dirtily. 'You're the same in every depraved way.'  
  
His expression merged gradually from an angry one, to a darkly amused face. It looked like a mask . . . Except for his eyes. They weren't hollow like I would have liked them to be. If they were hollow, they would harbor no emotion. No, Paul was feeling something.  
  
Enjoyment. He enjoyed making me remember this . . . endure the pain all over again, after so long of running.  
  
'So I'm the same Paul Slater,' he said with his trademark grin. 'The one that threatens you by backing you up into walls, only so he can talk to you?' he took a step closer with a certain confidence that I remembered so well. Only now, it proclaimed even more dominance. My face flushed furiously, and my heart, always the victim of this terrible and merciless game, gave a horrible lurch. 'One that makes you feel so bad, and yet so good at the same time?' he took another step closer. I stepped back in sequence, trying to find a way to get away from him. He took yet another step closer as he said, 'One that tells it like it is, even though you don't want to hear it?'  
  
He didn't tell it like it was. He told it however the hell he wanted it to be. I moved back toward the door, wondering where the hell Father Dominic was.  
  
'The one you pretend to hate?'  
  
'I . . . I don't pretend,' I whispered, mainly to myself.  
  
'You keep telling yourself that, and maybe one day you'll believe it,' he told me venomously. I looked away sharply. He was being so harsh . . . he'd grown up. He was a man now, and he took no crap.  
  
Time . . . Time is the worst enemy . . .  
  
I eyed the door next to me . . . trying to find an opportunity to get out. This had to stop . . . I couldn't have him cornering me again. And not just in the physical sense. He toyed with my mind, and oh how he loved to do so.  
  
He was cutting open the wounds that had taken so long to heal, with a white hot knife. It was killing me to remember. He stood above me, looking down at me, as he always did. As if I were inferior to him. And right now, I felt it profoundly. That I was now the one who stood in the dark, lonely shadows.  
  
'If you refuse to see that I've changed, then maybe I won't,' he hissed as he had me totally backed on the wall. I stumbled a bit, and I swallowed madly. Why hadn't I grown up, in this sense? Why was I still acting like a seventeen-year-old? Why had I not hardened myself? This was so not funny anymore. In every aspect, I was twenty-three years old. Every aspect, saving this one. Seeing Paul . . . I hadn't even bothered to protect myself as I'd grown up. I'd taken it for granted that he was gone.  
  
'What?' I demanded.  
  
'You studied psychology,' he replied bluntly, 'You should know. Or were you just pretending to learn about that, too?'  
  
How . . . how dare he?  
  
'I did,' I said with as much vehemence as I could muster, 'But I'm no where near advanced as to contemplate a mind as twisted as yours. So suck.'  
  
Whoa . . . hadn't said that in a few years . . .  
  
'Oh Suze,' Paul chuckled, resting his gaze on my hairline, and he raked in every feature of my face. I felt another chill. Like someone had just opened a door on a really windy day, and all the wind was swallowing you, bringing coldness to everything . . . 'Some things never change.'  
  
'Yeah, you for one,' I told him as I shivered a bit. 'One and only . . . '  
  
Oh. My. God. Did I just say that? ONE AND ONLY?! PAUL?! Oh man, I can't even control my mouth.  
  
'What?' Paul asked as he raised his eyebrows in amusement, regarding me with a slightly nostalgic expression. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it. For some reason, I didn't think I was. It was awful, because with the very thought, I felt my heart spin and do little flip flops. You know, just at the thought of him knowing what I was thinking . . . 'Suze . . . you look like you've just been struck by lightning.' Oh my God, he knew. I could tell. His eyes were flashing wickedly. 'You feeling okay? You look . . . hot.'  
  
I saw his eyes go thinner in amusement as my face turned peremptorily scarlet. My stomach dropped and I turned to ice, as if given the urge to cool down in honour of what he'd just said.  
  
He enjoyed plaguing me, messing with my fragile mind. I  
  
t was callous. Unfair. That he could manage it so effectively, and so easily. I felt like a very delicate flower, that would have been crushed with a single breath. And trust me, I'm not into the floral sensations.  
  
So I went for fruit. Big diff, Suze. Totally.  
  
'Peachy,' I told him, even though that was the antithesis of what I was feeling. 'But I totally hate peaches, that's the weird thing . . . Why do people say peachy, when they have nothing in common with the fruit in question?' And I was off, on my fascinating discussion of the marvelous concept of stoned fruit. Delightful, Suze. Go team.  
  
'You're rambling again,' Paul pointed out to me. 'You seem to do that when you're nervous. Are you?'  
  
' . . . I mean, what is with that stone in the middle? Do they call it a stoned fruit because it's smoked pot or something? Will we get stoned if we eat them? Because, trust me, no stoned fruit required if that is the case, I'm already totally – wait . . . what? I . . . no I'm not rambling!'  
  
'Because,' he said as he took another step closer, being as close as humanly possible to me without actually touching me . . . which was kind of unnerving. Okay, TOTALLY unnerving, then! 'I can stop this at anytime you want . . . unless you like this, the old Paul, better.'  
  
Like the old Paul better . . . oh my God . . .  
  
'I see no difference,' I said with a gulp.  
  
'That's because you choose to see no difference,' he said as he put his arm on the wall beside my head. My breath, again for old time's sake, caught in my throat kinda sharply. He smirked at me, knowing perfectly well that I was acting like this because of what he was doing . . . again. After so long of running and forgetting and, well, running some more?  
  
'Remember, Suze,' he said in a susurrus voice as he tilted my chin upwards, 'There is no spoon.'  
  
Oh my GOD.  
  
He SO did not just go all Matrix on me, right?! Hell, where's the leather jackets, and the snazzy black glasses? Not that I wanted to see Paul in leather or anything. Imagine that . . .  
  
I couldn't help but let out a snort, which totally broke the mood. Heck, why was I complaining? I wanted the mood broken. Moods suck. Too moody for Susie.  
  
'Oh, whatever, Mr Anderson,' I scoffed, laughing. I really didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help it. It was really a pretty sad joke, if you thought about it. To think, he was still sucking me into his dark maelstrom. Little things, that drew me in . . . trying to gain my trust again . . .  
  
'Sorry . . . it just seemed appropriate,' he explained with a light chuckle and a shrug.  
  
'Oh my God,' I sniggered, 'You're worse than I thought. You THINK you've developed a humor now.'  
  
'So what?' Paul asked with a smile, 'Am I forgiven, or is some massive groveling in order?'  
  
I stopped laughing instantly. No way . . . NO WAY! He was trying to TRICK ME.  
  
'Don't even bother groveling,' I said to him bitchily, my hands on my hips. He wasn't going to make me believe that I wanted his friendship . . . no WAY. Suze Simon could survive perfectly fine without Paul Slater. Hell, she didn't know if she COULD survive WITH him.  
  
He descended on one knee in a mockery of an apology, and said, with a wry look in his darkly pale eyes, 'I am more than sorry for everything I've done.'  
  
I stared at him in disgust. Who did he think he was, anyway? Prince Charming, or something? Or a very bad dwarf impersonator? Is Sleazy the eighth dwarf or something?  
  
'I don't give a shit,' I told him aloofly, staring down at him. Slater scum, yeah . . . 'Be sorry. Yay. Nothing's going to change. Why don't YOU accept something for once?'  
  
He ignored me and took my hand in his own. A volt of electricity shot from my fingers, and up my arm. I disregarded it angrily, as he spoke, staring up at me with ice blue eyes, 'I just want you to know that, even if you won't believe me and you want me dead- though, you seem to fancy the dead more—'  
  
'Dead?' I asked. Did he really think I was like that? That I wanted people dead? . . . God, he was off. I didn't wish anyone were dead. I really didn't. I get pissed, and furious, but no death demands, nope. I'm completely a loser. But, if he thought I was like that –  
  
Who cared what he thought?!  
  
'Maybe I should save you some trouble,' he said sadly as he bowed his head.  
  
'Paul, I . . . I don't want you dead,' I groaned as I shook my head. Wait a minute . . . he was making fun of me! He said I liked dead people better, and was implying that I would go for him as a ghost! AS IF! I know that astral glow does wonders, but I never said it did miracles.  
  
'Shut up!' I shouted furiously.  
  
'Huh? What's that?' Paul said as he cupped his other hand around his ear, smirking, 'You don't want me dead? That has to mean SOMETHING, Suze.'  
  
My face flushed angrily. 'Yeah, it means that I'm a decent person,' I told him coldly. 'Not everyone takes pure hatred to the ultimate, you know. I'm human remember? Unlike—'  
  
'Are you saying that I'm not human?' Paul queried, looking up to me snobbishly. He was still on his knees, which probably hurt a lot. I should know that the chapel floor is not very plush. From that time when I got Father Dominic to exorcise me so I could go save –  
  
. . . Never mind.  
  
'Oh, get up,' I said as I rolled my eyes, 'You look like you're going to pop the question, for God's sake.' I groaned to myself, 'That'd be the day . . . '  
  
'Susannah Simon . . . will you –'  
  
'SHUT UP,' I yelled, extremely aggravated by then.  
  
Paul stood up so that we were practically nose-to-nose.  
  
My heart was jerked sharply on its puppetry strings. Paul was playing the role of puppeteer, playing with my emotions. Making me feel things I never wanted to feel . . . causing me to do things I would have never imagined.  
  
'Shhhh,' he shushed me by putting his hand over my mouth, 'Suze . . . this is a church.' His eyes were dancing coldly . . . Icy . . . beautiful, but lethally freezing. His hand was warm, but they triggered such chilling reactions that I wasn't sure if my sense of feeling was functioning formerly. My very blood seemed to turn to ice in my veins.  
  
I swallowed hard. Oh statue of Virgin Mary that is glaring at me right now . . . please help me. Please . . .  
  
Obviously, the Virgin Mother heard my prayers, because just then the door swung open loudly, interrupting the terror that was about to happen. I was hoping it was Father Dominic or someone, but anyone would do. 'Paul? Paul, your brother Joe - no, Jack- he said you'd be here. Oh . . . hi.'  
  
'Oh, I uh . . . uh,' Paul stuttered as he dropped his hand and turned around quickly. I jerked away from him drastically as this woman with flaming red hair eyed me suspiciously. She was really tall – almost as tall as Paul, and much taller than short ass ol' me – and she had these extreme hazel eyes. Her hair was cut into a stylish choppy bob, and it was quite obvious that it was dyed that fiery red color. It gleamed vibrantly with each flicker of the candles that lined the chapel. No way could that be natural. And she had this huge mole on her left cheek . . . ugh. She was my age, circa, with a deep bronze tan that stretched over a killer bod. The only thing was, well . . . she was REALLY thin. Like those anorexic super models you see on the Style Network. But then again, she had rather large, um . . . well, um . . . I doubted that a D cup would suffice . . . ooh, I'm horrible! But yeah, you know what I mean? And maybe it's just me, but teeny waist and big chested didn't look that normal. But each to their own?  
  
'Paul,' she said as she crossed her arms and looked me over, an accusing waver in her lethal tone, 'Who is SHE?'  
  
'Someone who hates my guts,' he said, kind of under his breath, which caused the red-head to raise an eyebrow.  
  
'Um . . . hi,' I said meekly, still staring, 'I'm an old, uh, school friend – er, nemesis. Yep . . . Made Paulie's highschool years hell, that's me. Wedgies here, there and everywhere.' I shot out my hand unconfidently as I pronounced, 'I'm, er, Susannah Simon.'  
  
She looked at my hand askance before taking it. She had that dead fish handshake, all wimpy and stuff.  
  
'Suze, this is Danielle Moore,' Paul introduced her, bowing his head in dark mirth. 'You might've heard of her before since you work in the fashion biz.'  
  
'Oh really?' Dani asked suddenly interested. Her bitchy facial expression homed in on me, wanting to listen. 'That's interesting. Who do you work for?'  
  
I shot Paul a death glare. 'Um . . . nah, that's just Paul . . . always the joker . . . hehe.'  
  
'Really? I didn't pick that up,' Dani said as she frowned. Someone should really tell her that frowning causes wrinkles. Oh, and so does sun tanning. So hah! When she's all wrinkly when she's forty, I'll be laughing.  
  
'So,' I said, trying to save myself from total social disaster, 'Are you two, what? Colleagues?'  
  
Paul walked, with much aplomb, over to Dani and wrapped his arm around her casually. His hand tightened on her shoulder as hard as a separate and tightened on my heart dangerously. That goofy look-who's-better-than-you- nannie-nannie-boo-boo smile crept on his face slowly as he kissed her tanned cheek, his icy, corrupt eyes flickering sideways to me momentarily. Then his lips formed the mortally scarring words that made me feel something I never saw coming:  
  
'She's my girlfriend.'  
  
. . .  
  
Say . . . WHAT? That skank was his GIRLFRIEND? After chasing me around so much in the past . . . he actually got a girlfriend? Something horrible flickered through me. It was reminiscent, and dragged me further into the past. It was a feeling in my chest, funnily enough, that made me feel not worse, but lighter, only in a terrible way. So, Paul had a girlfriend. A model. Wasn't that ironic? Shows how shallow he is. Expects the best, doesn't he, Paul? Then what the hell was he doing with me? But I thought . . .  
  
I'm not going to leave you.  
  
SUZE! God, I couldn't STILL dwell on that! I'd made him leave. When he heard that Jesse was going to stay, he offered to change his plans and go with me. But I couldn't stand to see his face every single day, and be reminded of how he made Jesse believe that . . . that I didn't love him as much as he loved me . . . He'd hurt Jesse. No, I had. And now Paul had moved on. He was smudging it all in my face tauntingly, yelling, 'HA! I HAVE A LIFE AND YOU DON'T!'  
  
Well . . . two can play at that game . . .  
  
'Oh, really?' I said as I suddenly grinned at Paul slyly. 'Lucky Paulie . . . '  
  
Paul, who was smiling, suddenly dropped his vainglorious grin. Yeah, he had a reason to . . . because I was on fire now. My fire could burn, too.  
  
'I mean, after all those years of being such an eyesore, our Paulie finally prettied up and managed to bag himself a girl, did he? Well, hey Dani . . . good for you. And Paul? The doctor said that thing . . . you know, THAT thing? He said it would clear up soon, right? Just keep using the cream, even if you say it's too cold to rub in.'  
  
The look on Paul's face was priceless . . . his eyes widened and his mouth was gaped open in an ambrosial fusion of shock and outrage. Who's the bitch now, sucker! You got served!  
  
I winked evilly and said, 'Later . . . much,' as I waggled my fingers at him, poising myself confidently. I strolled out cunningly, but not before hearing a very alarmed Danielle, demanding, 'Paul . . . what thing?' 


	4. Dystopia

Lyrics are by Evanescence. Not us. Enjoy!  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
My mind was racing, my heart was pounding, and my legs were jelly. And though I managed to muster a pretty good exit line, I could not for the life of me process where to go or what to do. I couldn't really process much. Coming back here, after . . . well, THAT, it seemed like a huge mistake. Another Susie screw-up to add to the list. Paul had a girlfriend? A model?  
  
I didn't mention that she was British, did I?  
  
No.  
  
Well, what do you know? Danielle's British.  
  
Funny, that.  
  
But yeah. So . . . whoa. Paul had this new lap dancing, Pommie chick hanging off of him. Slater logic. Go figure. Just . . . you know, it was certainly not something that I could easily come to terms with. I suppose that –  
  
No, I'm going to sound like a loser if I say that.  
  
Just –  
  
Shutting up.  
  
Oooh, this was NOT COOL! Just, with all the emotional turmoil that was happening in my life at the moment, to see – oh, God. What I'm thinking doesn't even make sense. It's all just a jumble, a huge chaotic snafu! Heh, you gotta love that word. Snafu. Sounded like . . . if you had Chinese twins, one would be called Snafu and the other, Tofu. Heh. But no . . . snafu was a completely disordered situation.  
  
Story of my life.  
  
But I knew exactly why I felt so strange when Paul said those words. "She's my girlfriend." I knew exactly why my heart kind of sealed over in a thin sheet of metal. Why my mind stopped going a million miles per hour. It made sense, and yet it didn't.  
  
I think I was . . .  
  
God, no . . . Who thought I'd be saying this before hell froze over?  
  
Hell, I was jealous of Paul Slater.  
  
---  
  
Perfect by nature.  
  
Icons of self indulgence.  
  
Just what we all need.  
  
More lies about a world that  
  
---  
  
I know, I KNOW. It's crazy and demented and insane and psychotic! Only, it wasn't. No, I know what you're thinking. You think that I'm jealous because I'm so madly in love with Paul. Ha. Don't disgust me. Don't insult me!  
  
No. I said I was jealous of him, NOT the skank.  
  
Paul . . . from what he said, he had everything that I could have ever dreamed of at the moment. He had a great job, high stature, a real purpose in life, a stable relationship, but most of all . . . freedom from the enslaving Memory Lane. It didn't affect him. He didn't care. He was able to live. Forget.  
  
And I was trapped, forever.  
  
Freedom was what I wanted – craved, most of all, above all else.  
  
Hence: Susannah Simon is jealous of Paul Slater.  
  
---  
  
Never was and never will be  
  
Have you no shame, don't you see me?  
  
You know you've got everybody fooled.  
  
----  
  
He was dating. I don't know why I was so shocked. I mean, come on. Tall dark and handsome rich lawyer with that mysterious aura around him – of course he was a chick magnet. Too bad that I didn't go for him. Ha. Well, sort of I did, maybe. Back then. But everything had changed now.  
  
Danielle Moore. A supermodel. It's ironic, huh? How he moved on from me, to a model. Was that trying to tell me something? That "since loving you for who you really are didn't pan out for me, I guess I'll settle for loving someone else for what they look like."  
  
Nice.  
  
Because, let's face it. Danielle was a babe. She was tall, and sexy, and dressed really – well, kinda slutty, but – well, and had really interesting hair and even though her face was like, totally pinched and she looked like a bitch, there was no denying that she was pretty. Her high cheekbones made her look cold, but in an elegant way. Like she knew she was beautiful. Like she had guys eating out of the palm of her hand. Like, the world bowed down to her.  
  
It made me angry . . . angry that I couldn't be like that.  
  
---  
  
Look, here she comes now.  
  
Bow down and stare in wonder  
  
Oh how we love you  
  
Too bad we didn't know she –  
  
---  
  
Yeah. So what? I was jealous of the one guy I hated with every fiber of my being.  
  
And DON'T go all, "Oh yeah, she's just saying that but we all know that it will come out all cliché and they will fall head over heals in love." Don't you dare say that. That is so, so far from the truth. If you even have the nerve to think that after what he did to me, well . . . you got guts. Because from my experience, one does not fall for someone who completely and utterly destroyed all meaning of one's life. Because that's what Paul did to me. Hell, it would have been better if he'd like, gone all freaky on me and hit me like Cole did. That was physical affliction. No, of course, he chose the more destructive approach – taking away everything I lived for.  
  
He took away Jesse.  
  
---  
  
Never was and never will be.  
  
You don't know how you betrayed me.  
  
Somehow you got everybody fooled. – Evanescence  
  
---  
  
. . . I suppose I better explain what happened, huh? And who the hell this Jesse guy really is, right?  
  
Probably.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Well,' Paul said, that evil grin reappearing on his face. He went so much deeper than evil, though. It was past cruelty. Past everything I could have expected from him. 'If that's how you feel, then can I have my jacket back? The one I let you borrow at Big Sur?'  
  
No . . . no.  
  
I couldn't even raise my eyes to look at Jesse. I was so, so ashamed. I didn't want to confirm it with the guilt that was swimming on my face. I couldn't do that. Oh my God . . . how could Paul do this? Again?! This . . . this was wrong. Wrong and terrible and so like him!  
  
Jesse's voice kind of crackled a little, as if he hadn't used it for a very long time. 'Big Sur? . . . The Point, as you call it? You went there . . . with him?'  
  
My head remained bowed. I stared at my fingers that were on my lap. Movement was impossible. Breathing was becoming difficult . . .  
  
It was just, I thought he'd GONE! I thought Jesse had up and left, like he said he had to! When I asked him to come to college with me, he'd refused, and he said it wouldn't work between us and that we were fooling ourselves, saying that it would be okay. He'd killed me, without the use of a gun or an axe or a chainsaw – or an assassin. No. Words had been so much more deadly than any action could have been. What he'd said, it had broken me so badly I didn't think that I could be salvaged. The despair he'd dumped me in . . . oh, you have no idea. NO IDEA, OKAY?!  
  
DON'T EVEN TRY TO PRETEND TO UNDERSTAND.  
  
My eyes were wide. I had to say something . . . I had to lie, and quickly, before he left again. I couldn't lose him again, no! God, that would ruin me. It would totally and utterly ravage everything I knew to be. I couldn't let him go, no way . . .  
  
'Jesse, he's not –'  
  
'Susannah, look at me.'  
  
There was a lethal tone in his growl. Like, one wrong move and someone would die. Literally. I didn't know if I'd ever seen Jesse like this. In all of my seventeen years, I could not pin point a time where he sounded scarier than he did there.  
  
It was frightening.  
  
'Jesse, I didn't – I didn't . . . I was just – we met there! I didn't know he was going to be there, and I . . . he –'  
  
Oh my God . . . I was lying my ass off. I couldn't even force out a convincing lie, let alone my usual voice. It was a stutter that was minced for all it was worth.  
  
And I still couldn't look at him.  
  
'Oh, Suze? You don't know where my handkerchief got to, do you? I'm wondering, did you leave it in my car? I mean, we were in there for a while. Did you drop it while we were –'  
  
'Paul, SHUT UP!' I squealed at him, my eyes going wide. No, we were not kissing! Ew, totally not! He locked me in there, and refused to take me home, thank you very much! And then he tried to get me talking, but I wouldn't.  
  
Ha, and kissing Paul Slater was so gross, right, Suze? That was why you had to do just that when he had you lying on the road at Big Sur, in the RAIN.  
  
But Jesse could NEVER know that.  
  
From beside me, I could feel the waves of anger that were burning from Jesse's direction. They scorched my skin when they hit me. I felt his fury on every inch of my body.  
  
'Paul, I don't know what you mean – Jesse, he's – I . . . I didn't do anything, he was just –'  
  
Just there, Suze? Was THAT why you kissed him back? Because he was just THERE?!  
  
I'm corrupt. Oh God, take me now . . . I can't DO this! I then pleasured Paul with a look of such accusation, he smirked. He thought this was FUNNY. That DICK!  
  
'Why are you looking at me like that, Suze?' he asked innocently, leaning against the door frame, 'It didn't mean anything to you, right? That's what you told me.'  
  
There was another furiously quiet growl from Jesse. 'Slater . . . I'm warning you.'  
  
'Paul,' I said in my calm panic, 'Get out. You said that you – just . . . leave now, please –' My heart was slamming in my chest. Oh, God, it hurt. Because, I was scared. Scared of what Paul was about to do. I could see a hidden fire in the eyes that I thought were only solid, impenetrable ice. Cold ice. But there was strength there. Passion. Power . . .  
  
'Susannah . . . ' Jesse said slowly, but I cut him off in alarm.  
  
'Jesse, he –'  
  
'What did he do?' Jesse demanded, more fortitude and anger riddling his tone. My stomach was dead lead.  
  
'Nothing! He didn't do a thing! We just –'  
  
But Paul's next statement totally shattered all of my lies.  
  
'It's a wonder you haven't gotten a cold or something, Suze. Especially from lying down, in the rain.'  
  
My world lurched horribly. 'You . . . bastard –'  
  
I couldn't believe it. I didn't think he would have the NERVE to hurt me like that. After . . . GOD, I couldn't BELIEVE that I'd believed him! I'd thought that maybe . . . you know, when he said he – you know, loved me, I had believed him. I had really started to think that maybe he could be the one to make it all better. To pull me out of the water, so I could stop drowning in this dark ocean that was my life. But now that everything was starting to get better – Jesse kissing me and stuff – he was here, smashing it all over again.  
  
With no mercy.  
  
But these things he was saying . . . it was all true. And that hurt above all things. The fact that I was keeping what was true from Jesse. Not trying to defend myself this time. This was the truth.  
  
And then he poured saltwater on the wounds.  
  
'You know Jesse,' he added with a dark glint in his eye, 'Everything's more fun in the rain.'  
  
No . . . please, God, no . . .  
  
I swallowed so hard then. I couldn't bring myself to meet Jesse's eyes. I still didn't have the courage to. Because one look at me would tell him who I really was . . . Someone so low that ants could look down on me. That's how Paul made me feel. Low. The lowest, ever.  
  
'What . . . what are you implying, Slater?' Jesse asked with a rumble of quiet thunder. I could hear the murderous anxiety. He didn't want to know, but had to . . .  
  
I pleaded with Paul to stop. But he was on a roll. A roll to put me in my place. A roll to get me back for whatever I had done. And he wouldn't rest until my life lay at his feet in total disorder and chaos, only so he could stomp it in the ground.  
  
'Oh, you know, the view, the overall experience,' Paul continued on in a matter-of-factly manner, 'You just feel the rain kissing you as – '  
  
'PAUL!' I yelped. Anything – anything to get him to stop. But I could only postpone the truth so much before it would unravel in front of Jesse along with life, as I knew it.  
  
'What Suze?' Paul feigned a look of confusion. 'It didn't mean anything to you. That's what you said. What has she got to hide, Jesse?' A dark smirk cracked his face. 'I wonder.'  
  
I started shaking. Really, really badly. I couldn't look away from Paul with huge, frightened eyes. I was pleading for him to stop, to not go on. I would just die, if Jesse found out.  
  
But Paul seemed to like murder, because he didn't stop. Oh God . . . please . . .  
  
'Hey Jesse, Suze is so creative, isn't she?' drawled Paul lazily, his eyes narrowing at me with something even darker than darkness. I was locked on his gaze. Still begging . . . don't do this . . .  
  
'Jesse, he's making it up,' I choked out, 'Paul, don't –'  
  
'Slater,' Jesse warned dangerously, but Paul liked the danger as much as murder.  
  
'She spouts out such elaborations. She's really kind of talented –'  
  
Don't!  
  
'I'm not the one who's elaborating,' I squeaked, 'You're the one who's –'  
  
I stopped. The dread was killing me.  
  
Paul regarded me with a fiery look, commixing with the darkness . . . 'The one who's what, Suze?'  
  
I couldn't move. Could one shake – 'Lying?' I said with uncertainty and insignificance. I wasn't sure of myself anymore. I couldn't trust my words.  
  
Paul took a single step forward. His face was starting to be erased of all emotion, save his anger. He was angry with me. I knew why. I knew exactly why. But his step was like the off switch for my ability to breathe. Oh God, I couldn't move. Except shake, still. I couldn't bear to hear what he was saying . . . I needed to get out of there, but I had a stupid drip on my hand.  
  
'I'm the liar then?' he asked softly, his timbre lacing me with prickles and ice. 'Suze, can you look Jesse in the eye, and tell him that? That might convince him –'  
  
'Slater, she told you to stop. You will leave, now,' Jesse ordered rudely.  
  
'Paul, please,' I urged him, 'Don't.' I was full on begging him, now. It was low. I was low. I was on the lowest plane of existence. I deserved to be.  
  
Another step. It stank of threat and amusement and anger. I could taste the fury behind his façade.  
  
'Slater, she told you to stop. She wants you to leave,' Jesse snarled from beside me.  
  
'Oh, like YOU wanted to leave HER?' Paul asked Jesse. When he saw the look of pure guilt and pain on Jesse's face, he sneered, 'Oh. I get it.'  
  
Jesse's guilt dissolved into anger in two seconds flat. He swiftly grabbed Paul by the shirt collar and held his fist back threateningly.  
  
'Jesse, don't-' I started, but then realizing that I was trying to defend Paul, I promptly corrected myself by yelling, 'PAUL GET OUT!'  
  
Jesse let go of Paul's shirt and pushed him forward. I could practically see fumes emanating from Jesse's ears. He was boiling mad. His eyes were narrowed at Paul with such anger and disgust.  
  
'Jesse, don't listen to him,' I told him in the most calming voice I could muster, which let me tell you was not at all silky smooth. 'He's trying to . . . well, he's done this before. Don't listen-'  
  
Paul walked over to Jesse slyly and patted him on the shoulder, saying in a sickly amused tone, 'Jesse, word of the wise, 'The Point' at Big Sur? Yeah, it's a nice place to take a special girl.' He turned his attention towards me and winked at me, saying, 'Suze is a special girl . . . very special. To me, in any case.'  
  
No, NO!  
  
Oh my God. He wasn't . . . he couldn't. Not after what he told me. Not after all we'd been through. My worst fears were about to be confirmed. The pieces to my life were shattering right in front of my eyes. And all I could do was watch. Watch myself fall apart. Watch myself die. Watch Paul, who was watching me die.  
  
'Jesse,' I pleaded, 'I swear, I didn't do anything.'  
  
'Oh no,' Paul corrected me, fixing his gaze back at Jesse, 'She didn't do just anything.'  
  
'Shut up,' I told Paul with venom. 'Just shut up.'  
  
For a moment, I actually thought Paul would. Shut up, I mean. He just continued to glare at Jesse. I swear, I could feel him retreating. I hope that he would realize how stupid this all was and just give up. But hopes aren't as powerful to the hopeless. Paul, suddenly directing his attention towards me as if he had a sudden revelation, said in a mock-concerned voice: : 'Did you get your ribs checked?'  
  
'Did I . . . what?' I said, daring to ask.  
  
Paul shrugged. 'You know, I was kind of lying on them on the road when we were kissing, I just wanted to make sure that they were -'  
  
POW. Jesse TOTALLY punched him in the stomach. I squeaked momentarily, as Paul keeled over. But then he stood up, grinning viciously at Jesse. 'Hear that, Jesse?' he snarled, referring to the deadly silence.  
  
'That's the sound of Suze not denying it.'  
  
My mouth fell open. I wanted to. I wanted to lie, and say that it was all just another evil Paul trick. I wanted to convince Jesse that it was a mistake, and it wasn't real. But I couldn't. I couldn't force out something that was just so untrue. Not to him. Not anymore. My shit hole was already as deep as it could possibly go. Six feet under, if you want to get technical.  
  
Just then, Jesse turned to face me, and oh my God. The look in his eyes, it . . . it was the worst pain I'd ever faced. Like he'd seen a whole world crumble before him. Like the meaning of pain and suffering had been redefined in that single moment in time when time itself had collapsed. Jesse knew. There was no need for words, or denials, or even confessions.  
  
He knew.  
  
And it killed him like his true death never had.  
  
What have I done?  
  
What have I DONE?!?!  
  
'Jesse - ' my voice wasn't functioning properly. It was rusty and scared. No, terrified. 'Jesse, I'm . . . I'm SO sorry - '  
  
'Aww come on de Silva,' Paul's voice interrupted with dripping, paralyzing poison, 'She said it didn't mean anything. Don't look so sad.'  
  
'Jesse,' I babbled in pleading tones, 'Jesse, I - he was - I didn't mean to, he was there and I was scared that you weren't coming back and I was alone and freaked and I didn't expect him to - HE kissed ME! I didn't -'  
  
'You're doing it again, Suze.'  
  
I dared to look at him. To face a man of such cruel intent. 'Doing what?' I demanded.  
  
His face split into another dark grin. He shook his head at me and tutted. 'You led me on Suze. I kiss you. You kiss back. How am I supposed to know you didn't like it? Love it? Hunger for it?'  
  
I couldn't stop shaking.  
  
No way . . .  
  
Everything suddenly blurred dangerously. Jesse - oh man, he was PISSED. And at me, I'm certain. The machine next to my head - the one monitoring me - exploded suddenly. A sharp shriek was ripped from my throat as I shielded my face. The lights started flickering . . . but still, Paul didn't stop. He couldn't be stopped. Not now, not ever. The fire hidden behind his eyes was unextinguishable.  
  
I was horrified. I really, truly, deeply was.  
  
Paul cocked his head. 'You want me gone, Suze?'  
  
I shook violently, and began to force out some vowel sound, when he butted in. 'You know, I never know with you. All these mixed signals, you know? Mixed signals suck, don't they Jesse?' he looked at the ghost boredly.  
  
'Icierra el boca - '  
  
'You'd know,' Paul plowed on lazily, 'you mess with Suze enough. Mess with her mind, and her heart. Is it how dead guys pass the time? Is it fun? It's not to me, JESSE.'  
  
'Get out,' I growled.  
  
Paul yet again ignored my desperate pleas, and stomped on, saying to Jesse almost conversationally, 'Just leaves some poor fool all heartbroken and angry. There's been a lot of that going on lately, eh?'  
  
This time I turned my pleas to Jesse who I thought might be a little more receptive. 'Jesse, just go,' I told him, 'I'll talk to you later. Go . . . please!?'  
  
Jesse turned his face, screwed in pain and torture, towards me and said in a hoarse voice, 'I . . . I want to hear this.'  
  
'No you don't,' I assured him. My cheeks were burning with hot acid tears that charred my skin.  
  
Paul patted Jesse on the back and said with approval, 'Well, that's great, Jesse. It's good to know that someone is willing to embrace the truth.' He glared at me pointedly and then back at Jesse with that phony, dirty politician's smile.  
  
I stifled a moan.  
  
'Okay, Jesse. Here's the truth. Ready or not . . . I invite Suze to the Point. She decides to go. I didn't make her. It was her decision. Well, we catch the sunset - glorious, might I add. I saw a lot of beautiful things that night. Everything was great, and then I kiss her. Of course, being typical, she gets all mad and runs away . . . so I trap her in my car.'  
  
Jesse made a sudden movement, but thought better of it. I was staring down . . . horrified. These events were replaying in my mind's eye with a severe intensity. Oh, God . . .  
  
'Again, we both got mad. She got out, and somehow I ended chasing her down the street . . . ' Paul continued on nastily.  
  
No - I couldn't hear this! I couldn't be here when Jesse realized it all. I had to get out -  
  
I quickly ripped the drip from the back of my hand. A sting shot up my arm but I furiously ignored it. I squirmed to get out of the twisted covers, but Jesse held me down. 'Susannah . . . stay put.'  
  
I froze, and looked back at Paul, pleading so desperately now with my eyes.  
  
I guess the Susannah Simon puppy eyes aren't as effective.  
  
'Of course, I tried talking to her. But she would let me. Kept running. So yeah, there was no choice but to tackle her. Make her listen,' he added with a flare of determination. I felt Jesse's grip on my go horribly tense. Protective, but at the same time, kind of, well, disgusted.  
  
'I told her some things, Jesse,' Paul leant in, his icy eyes staring at Jesse with the most sinister amusement ever. 'Things that your Susannah needed to hear . . . '  
  
'Paul, stop it!' I gasped, and to my shame, a huge sob was torn from my chest. He was making me cry. Watching me crumble. Break. Die.  
  
I cried harder.  
  
'You want to know what I told her, Jesse?' Paul whispered to him in a murderous rage. 'I'll give you three guesses.'  
  
Jesse glared at him, still holding me by my shoulders. I was shaking . . . crying . . . dying a million deaths.  
  
'Give up?'  
  
'PAUL!' I yelled at him in a voice that was three octaves higher than usual. I struggled in Jesse's hold, but he was adamant. His eyes were riveted on Paul in dread.  
  
'Say it . . . ' Jesse urged in a silent wrath. 'What is it you told her.'  
  
'Don't!'  
  
Paul smiled right at me. Looked me in my teary, desperate eyes, and smiled. It was derived from something cruel and sadistic and harmful. Truly evil.  
  
'I told her . . . that I loved her, Jesse.'  
  
No.  
  
No, no, no, NO, NOOOOOOO.  
  
'Well,' he went on - the damage was done - 'It was a pretty big mistake on my part. Look at me now?'  
  
I went limp against Jesse, too mortified for movement or thought.  
  
'I'm almost sorry I said it . . . '  
  
I stared into space. No, he didn't - he . . . he really . . . he did that. He looked me in the eye, and he destroyed everything.  
  
' . . . He doesn't mean it . . . no one means it . . . I do, but no one cares . . . it's not - ' I muttered incoherently under my breath. My blood had turned to ice in my veins, turning my whole body numb. Anaesetic couldn't have deadened me any more than his words had.  
  
There was a dull roaring in my mind, but by God, it was deafening . . .  
  
And STILL, he didn't stop!  
  
'So, there we were, Jesse. Lying in the middle of the road . . . kissing. And wonder of wonders Jesse, she was kissing me back. Wow, she can kiss. And when I stopped, well, let's just say she didn't.'  
  
Jesse abruptly let go of me as if I'd caught fire. My whole body seized up completely, and every muscle was as hard as diamond.  
  
' . . . And then, Jesse, you wouldn't believe what happened . . . '  
  
Jesse didn't say anything . . . he didn't need to. Of the many emotions stirring in his dark eyes, the one that showed mostly on his face became curiosity. But I knew . . . I knew that when Paul would tell him, he'd wish he never asked. ' . . . It began to rain,' Paul said, his blue eyes dancing. He said it as if it were so magical, so enchanting. His tone was contagious to Jesse who leaned in to hear more.  
  
I, however, wasn't interested anymore. In fact, I fell out of my bed. Jesse shot up on his feet to help me, but I was already scrambling for the exit. But when I looked at my destination, I saw that Paul Slater who was leaning against the doorframe again with that stupid smirk on his perfectly handsome face blocked it. If I hadn't suffered serious head trauma, I would have kicked the perfectly handsome face to resemble something a little less appealing.  
  
'I wasn't finished here,' Paul pouted, 'Unless . . . would you like to continue the story, Suze? It's as much yours as it is mine.'  
  
Ours. It was ours. The collective pronoun of doom.  
  
I tried to avoid him by ducking under one of his arms, but he just shifted his weight around so that it was impossible for me to pass.  
  
'Let me out,' I demanded, a sob projecting itself from my throat, 'Just fucking let me OUT.'  
  
Paul lives in a twisted world. Things are the way he wants them to be, not the way they really are. He hears things the way HE hears them, not they way they were actually said. So when I told him to let me out, he instead grabbed me by the waist and thrust me against the cold wall and said, 'Fine, I'll just continue. I was just getting to the good part anyway.'  
  
He pressed against me and glared, shouting with his eyes, "You deserve this."  
  
Did I? Oh, God . . . he was ruining everything . . .  
  
'Let go of her, NOW,' Jesse commanded in a deadly tone. I wanted to die. Die and never come back as a ghost. I was so humiliated and horrified.  
  
'Jesse,' I moaned to him, my cheeks wet, 'Jesse, I swear it wasn't me, it was the – he was making – I didn't – '  
  
Paul was smiling at me. 'I was making you?' he asked softly.  
  
I nodded with a whimper. He was touching me, and this was NOT COOL with me. His body was crushing me against the wall, one of his hands by my head. I could feel very hot breath on my neck, and I was still shaking madly.  
  
How could he? How COULD he?!  
  
The lights were now flickering very aggressively. Paul's face was ripped across the boundaries light and shadow very rapidly. And he was still smiling . . .  
  
He'd just annihilated everything . . . oh my God.  
  
I was devastated.  
  
And I would never, ever forgive this . . .  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Whoa . . . is that . . . is that Suze?'  
  
Now, standing in the breezeway in intensely deep thought, evoking terrible memories of five years prior to the now, hearing a question like that would only serve to intrigue me and save me from my torturous memory. I turned around, and oh my God . . . THAT was a sight for sore eyes . . .  
  
'Oh my God! Suze . . . Suze Simon? In the flesh?' CeeCee squealed as she looked to Adam in shock. Adam looked me up and down and replied, 'You sure that's flesh, Agent Mulder?'  
  
Holy crap . . .  
  
I stared, my mouth hanging open.  
  
CeeCee Webb . . . and Adam McTavish.  
  
Oh my God.  
  
Father Time's gonna get his BLOODY ASS KICKED NOW.  
  
CeeCee grabbed my by the shoulders squeezed me tightly into a hug. When she finally let me breathe, Adam stuck out his hand to shake mine, but when I went for it, he quickly had me in another death hug.  
  
Wow.  
  
I never knew hugs could be so . . . warm.  
  
Or lethal.  
  
'What is this? My punishment for not calling you two?' I managed to choke in Adam's strong grasp. A bubble of such rambunctious bliss was struggling for emergence. Oh my God, CeeCee and Adam! Had it been this long?  
  
With another rush of sorrow, I hugged him tighter.  
  
Adam let go of me and said, 'Pretty much. You thought you could get rid of us, Simon. Well . . . you're wrong. MUAHAHA – ouch.'  
  
CeeCee, who had elbowed him in the ribs, said, 'Give her a break, honey. It's just that . . . God, Suze, it's been forever! You don't know how much I've missed you!'  
  
Hang on . . . Did she – oh my GOD! OH MY GOD!!!  
  
'Did you just call Adam 'honey'?' I demanded with a goofy grin.  
  
CeeCee blushed a cute shade of magenta.  
  
'She finally managed to bag me,' Adam said, a smile spreading across his face, 'It was pretty tough, you know, with all of the other women who couldn't keep their hands off me – OUCH!'  
  
This time, it was me elbowing him.  
  
I just couldn't believe it. I really couldn't. It felt like . . . I dunno. Like just yesterday, me, CeeCee and Adam had graduated and were saying our good-byes, but had decided that life could go screw itself, and that we were gonna still hang out, no matter what. There was something inside of me that was tugging at my heart pleasantly, and I felt like I was on a soaring high again.  
  
Partly because of the fact that CEECEE AND ADAM WERE FINALLY DATING!!!! but mainly because, this was CeeCee and Adam . . . here again. Making it all seem real, and making it not seem like such a gigantic mistake that I'd came back. An infectious smile spread across my lips.  
  
'I knew we'd see you here, Suze, but . . . gosh this feels so unreal! You grew out your hair! It's beautiful and really shiny and long,' CeeCee gushed as she petted it softly.  
  
'You both have changed too . . . I can't believe it,' I told them. My nose began to feel prickly . . . a sure sign that I might begin crying. But it was true they had changed. First of all, they finally opened their eyes, and now they were a couple. Secondly, Adam sprouted or something because he was much taller than he had been. CeeCee ditched the glasses and the metal in her mouth disappeared.  
  
Her hair was cut into a layered hairstyle that fell sleekly around her shoulders. Her eyes looked brighter, and she just looked so much more mature in general. Adam was in a casual looking outfit that still hinted his happy-go-lucky nature, but at least made him display a certain sophistication.  
  
'Oh my God, you guys,' I said, forcefully trying to bite down the waterworks now. That would have been suuuuch a great first impression, after these five years. That Suze Simon had turned into a faucet. Joy.  
  
Adam grinned at me. 'Whoa, we get an 'Oh my God'? That has to mean something. I've been working out,' he hinted at me. To CeeCee, he said smugly, 'She's admiring my now to-die-for physique. Watch and learn, little lady, how the women are magnetically drawn to a man of my superior good looks. Suze is a perfect example of the intense attraction to my animal magnetism.'  
  
I raised my eyebrows at him. 'Um . . . okay . . . '  
  
CeeCee scoffed at him. 'Honey, shut up. You're embarrassing yourself. Don't let the whole world know that you're still in the third grade.'  
  
SHE CALLED HIM HONEY AGAIN! OH, GOD IS GRACIOUS!  
  
She turned back to me, a soft, amiable look in her eyes. 'God Suze . . . I still can't believe that you didn't keep in touch. How have you been, tell us everything!'  
  
I shrugged at her. 'I'm really not that interesting.'  
  
Ha. Whatever. My life had enough dramas to outdo the corniest soap opera. But it was just the thought of having to share these dramas with someone else . . . give myself away as the pathetic loser I had become . . . well, they weren't going to know. I couldn't let them see me as "Hi, I'm Suze! I'm a trainee, can I take your order?"  
  
No way. No freaking way.  
  
'So, um . . . how did you guys finally get together?' I craved, wanting badly to know. I was really so chuffed for them! I knew that CeeCee was bursting to say how happy she was, but was holding back all of the impending bliss explosions. It would undoubtedly be messy on her part.  
  
'Well, one day we were sitting on the beach, for a quick visit, and the next thing you know, Mr. Animal Magnetism asked me out,' CeeCee said with a sly grin towards Adam.  
  
I snorted at him.  
  
'Well, you could so tell she wanted me,' Adam gloated. 'Especially with the way she asked me to put sunscreen on her. I mean, a guy can't say no to rubbing stuff on a girl's body. Especially –'  
  
'Adam!' CeeCee snapped at him.  
  
'So anyway, when I was rubbing SPF 45 on her back, she grabbed my shoulders and laid a heck of a kiss on me.'  
  
'Go Cee!' I said as I nudged her. 'Way to make the first move.'  
  
'I couldn't take it anymore,' CeeCee confided. 'I just had to tell him. I could write for newspapers and stuff, but for some reason I could not find the right words to tell him. So I had to show him.'  
  
'She sure showed me . . . Damn, she's all with the tongue action,' Adam said with an impish grin, sliding his hand around her shoulders.  
  
'Adam, shut up!' smiled CeeCee, flushing a bright pink that was clearly evident on her pale cheeks. I gave Adam a doubtful look. 'He's not that tactful, is he?' I commented, putting my hands on my hips.  
  
'No, but you get over that bit,' Adam shrugged at me happily. 'Any girl would get over than when they saw me naked - OW! STOP ASSAULTING ME!!' he snapped good-naturedly after I'd whacked him one on the side on the head.  
  
CeeCee leant into him, beaming up at his face. 'Aww, she hurt you? Want me to kiss it better, Madam Adam?'  
  
'Yeah . . . . it didn't look like it, but she really whacked me on my mouth,' he said innocently.  
  
CeeCee giggled and they were at it. In the hallway of our old school. Some of the kids who were finding their way to detention stopped to look at them in awe. The little first-graders' eyes were bugging out of their heads, third graders were whispering at the scandal, and the older kids were hooting and hollering. But that didn't seem to stop them at all.  
  
Listening to them made me kinda queasy in a giddy, joyful kind of way that made my tummy squirm pleasantly. CeeCee and Adam . . . Oh, this was the BEST.  
  
But . . . um . . . they were getting kind of . . . well, I mean, there were KIDS watching, you know?  
  
'Er, guys? You have an audience,' I informed them flatly.  
  
'We - honey, stop it - what?' CeeCee asked obliviously. She then saw the fifth graders staring at her, most likely scarred for life. ' . . . Oh. Sorry, kids. It's okay, your parents did this too and even more to conceive you all, don't be grossed out,' Adam shrugged. CeeCee beamed with embarrassment, resting her head against Adam's shoulder. 'So come on, Suze, how's your life? Do tell, we're dying to know!'  
  
. . . I bet you are . . .  
  
'I . . . uh . . . I've been in Massachusetts and . . . oh wait . . . Mass is going to begin in . . . er, thirty minutes. You know, spots fill up fast around here,' I laughed nervously.  
  
CeeCee raised a white eyebrow and said, 'Right. Okay, we might as well go to find a good seat before Kelly and her former posse take them.'  
  
Adam held out both of his arms and escorted us to the chapel. I felt better about going there with Adam and CeeCee. They were like a shield, protecting me from getting stabbed by the enemy . . . and his stupid Pom–assed girlfriend.  
  
Adam dropped us off at the last pew, the seat that we always sat in at Mass. That is, when I decided to go to Mass. The first year, I politely refrained, but that soon got boring. I mean, there's only so many games of Solitaire you can play before you get sick of it, you know?  
  
'I thought you wanted us to get good seats,' I told him.  
  
'I did . . . and these are the best seats,' he said with a grin. He sniffled and added, 'Good times, good times.'  
  
'What?' I asked, as CeeCee elbowed him girlishly.  
  
'You know . . . back seats?' he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, poking out his tongue a little between his teeth.  
  
I gave him a weird look. 'What, are you some make-out machine now? Whoa . . . I really shouldn't leave you two alone,' I said, in genuine worry. 'This is NOT a movie theater Adam. Unlike at the cinema, there's actually someone up the front?'  
  
'Huh?'  
  
'Like, I dunno, Father Dom?' I said with an amused, random tone. 'Don't let the priest collar fool you, he's totally used to seeing honeys hot for each other in his House of God. After all, 'twas the way of Adam and Eve. And it's close enough, right? Adam and Cee? But . . . you two are wearing normal clothes . . . no um, leaves . . . yeah . . . ' Oh God, do I EVER stop babbling about crap?!  
  
I blushed a little at my seriously bizarre train of thought. CeeCee snorted at me. 'Whoa . . . intense, Simon . . . don't think so much, you'll hurt yourself, dude.'  
  
CeeCee saying 'dude.' Jeez . . . this is too much . . .  
  
'Sorry . . . I uh . . . sorry,' I apologized awkwardly as I sat myself in between Adam and CeeCee.  
  
'What gives?' CeeCee asked as she moved her hand so my butt wouldn't crush it.  
  
'I felt I might need to separate you two until you can control your urges,' I told them in my best Sr. Ernestine impression. CeeCee and Adam rolled their eyes and laughed.  
  
The organ began playing soft music as more and more people filed in. Kelly Prescott waved to me, her big stomach nearly knocking over half of the people. And it wasn't because she'd gained weight – that would have been pretty ironic, though – it was because she was having a kid. I caught a glimpse at her engagement ring . . . the rock in it had to be at least the size of her palm! That was so like Kelly to marry young...and rich, too.  
  
Adam snorted beside me. 'Ha, would you look at that? Old Kelly's the new La Ma's Prescott mascot. Damn, someone knocked her up good.'  
  
'She's engaged,' I told him, pointing out the ring. Adam whistled.  
  
'Wow, look at that gem! Babe, I'm so killing her and Cee to get my hands on her guy,' he said with a mock-wistful grin.  
  
CeeCee leant forward and shot him a dirty look. 'I'm right here, you know? Kindly plan my homicide on your own time? Oh, there's Debbie Mancuso . . . .holy crap . . . how SHORT can a skirt get?' CeeCee demanded in affront. 'That's gotta be only five inches or something!'  
  
'Why don't you wear those?' Adam groaned to her.  
  
CeeCee pushed me down, so she could whack him hand on the head with a grin. 'I don't want people to be blinded by the whiteness of my skin,' she shrugged.  
  
'But it's a nice white. Like milk. And I like milk,' Adam said with a watery smile.  
  
. . . Um . . . .that was kinda sad . . .  
  
Sister Ernestine made her way up to the lectern and cleared her throat a few times, as she once had when we were rowdy teenagers.  
  
'Today we kick off the celebration of the five-year reunion with a very special Mass for all of you. The celebrant this evening will be Father Dominic. Please stand and greet those around you.'  
  
'Group hug!' Adam announced as he squished the three of us together. He really must have been doing some kind of work out . . . jeez, the guy was strong. Kelly and her big stomach greeted me cheerfully along with her fiancée . . . Scott Turner. I kinda felt sorry for their kid. But since Mr. Turner had acquired some wealth, he could possibly afford a plastic surgeon willing to diminish the size of their kid's nose.  
  
After greetings were exchanged, the organ began a very cheery melody. Sister Ernestine began singing and waving her arms about like she was conducting a world-class choir. She always did that, in order to get us to sing at Mass. It didn't work then, so why did she think it would work now?  
  
Wow. Everything was just so . . . familiar. So unreal. I hoped that I wouldn't wake up, and this was all a dream. I didn't want to face another day of Starbucks. Of Cole Kennedy.  
  
But no. I was here. I was happy.  
  
So weird for me.  
  
I saw Father Dominic parade down the small aisle, still looking good. That rumour that the nuns had . . . the one where they said he grows better looking as he aged? I now knew what they meant. Three altar servers came before him in the procession . . . and one of them was Jack, who as the tallest, was the one carrying the crucifix.  
  
The entrance hymn ended weakly, and Father Dom had to half shoo Sister Ernestine off the lectern because she was giving us all a hard look, trying to decide which ones of us were probably worth being nice to. Father D, snowy topped as ever, beamed down at everyone. 'My, my. How the Lord hurries time. Look at us all, we've all grown up.'  
  
There was a humorous murmur. Father Dom smiled some more, looking very pleased. 'It is a blessed thing, to see students as yourselves go through highschool, to prepare you and send you into a world, and then to bring you all back together. This is what the Mission Academy is about. Unity, and friendship, and a close relationship with God.'  
  
I grinned up at him. He hadn't looked at me yet.  
  
See? Back row seats in a church weren't all that Adam proclaimed them to be. I saw him and CeeCee looking sideways at each other furtively, trying not to laugh. I scowled at them. If there was something to do with religion that I had respect for, it was Father Dom . . . um, that was about it. What? After all these years, why should I be too chummy with God? What's he done for me? A big fat nothing.  
  
' . . . And now, we are all back where we belong. So I start with a blessing, in the name of the father . . . ' Father D made the sign of the cross, and everything followed suit unsurely. I looked over to the corner, and saw with a flush, that Paul was in deep conversation with that new girlfriend, Danielle, or whatever. She was - in the spirit of Debbie Mancuso - wearing one of those micro minis. Hello...skank much?  
  
Paul wasn't even listening to Father Dom . . . that really made me angry . . .  
  
'Suze, what's with the glare thing? Cool down, sunshine,' Adam hissed in my ear, and poked my hand in a subtle warning. With another blushed, I looked away sharply from Paul, and again, focused my attention on Father Dominic . . .  
  
It was a long mass. I mean, well, it was taking long enough. Time dragged on slowly, giving me more time to observe exactly how much weight so and so had gained, or how crappy whosie-whatsisname looked with a mohawk . . . and so on. But beneath all these shallow observations, I was really thinking hard, wondering if these people had gotten something from their lives. Was I the only one who hadn't?  
  
Was I the only one in this room who had failed? Failed to meet the world's demands? Failed to keep up with the fast pace of life, and had fallen behind? Was I alone in this limbo that I existed in? And was it just me who was sucking the energy from the whole congregation? It felt like it. I felt like a total sucker. The high feeling was soaring back six feet under again, the level that I lived at.  
  
The readings were read by a few of the new novices. I saw that the ones that were novices when I was in school, had now become sisters, donning the same huge crucifix that hung at Sr. Ernestine's huge chest. Even they got promoted!  
  
There was a reading, and then Father Dom began a homily that I wasn't paying attention to. I was wondering how I was going to wing my speech. I'd just . . . um, talk about weather. Always safe. Yeah. Weather was good.  
  
I'm gonna suck.  
  
Or maybe I'd just read the speech that I'd written earlier. That would be nice. And add that the evil Adonis wannabe had acquired a skanky girlfriend, and the world (or at least every single girl age twenty-three) should mourn.  
  
Mmm. It was about then, while I was thinking bitterly of Danielle Moore, when there was a tremendous crashing sound of the stained glass windows. Glass splintered down, and people screamed as they struggled to get away from the showering glass. I gasped, and to my horror, a – you're not going to believe this . . . a whole BIKIE GANG came soaring through the window. I yelled in shock, as the roaring motorbikes landed deafeningly on the ground, straight through the pews.  
  
You may wonder how all of this is possible.  
  
I mean, it kind of defies logic. And gravity. Not to mention the boundaries of physics.  
  
Well, believe me. It's possible if you're dead.  
  
Very possible.  
  
Thus the reason that people were panicking so much. No one could tell what was happening. They couldn't see the dead.  
  
I could. Oh, horrors of being a shifter.  
  
'Suze, come on, we have to get out of here!' CeeCee gasped, and tugged at my hand. I stared at her wildly. 'CeeCee, Adam, get everyone out! Now!'  
  
Just then, riding through all of the pews and several people, one particularly plump, hefty guy roared through the church, blowing things up as he went. Until, of course, he went to ride through me. That caused some very nasty reactions.  
  
I was knocked to the side, and the biker stopped his motorcycle, and stared at me. Something strange flashed through my memory. The guy's eyes were in slits, surrounded by pouches of fat. I could tell that he was angry. He glared at me, his flaming red beard looking as fierce as he was. He had a denim jacket that was torn at the sleeves, and long leather pants, with a bandanna around his head. Honey, NOT a fashion statement. All the other riders were dressed in the same vein. But this guy . . . he looked mean. His arms were heavy in the tattoo department. It was really gross.  
  
'Where is Paul Slater?' he demanded of me, clenching HUGE hands around the handlebars, which, ironically, resembled his thick red mustache.  
  
I blinked, and scrambled back. Why was it ALWAYS Paul they wanted? What, was the whole world enchanted by him or something? Why did I always have to get the homosexual ghosts who were turned on by Paul Slater alone, WHY?!  
  
'Um, over there,' I pointed to the corner stupidly.  
  
The beefy dude grinned down at me nastily, looked over to where I had accidentally indicated, and his smile grew crueler still. Paul was trying to help Dani, who'd been grabbed by one of the bikers –  
  
HOLD THE PHONE!  
  
Danielle – she – SHE WAS A MEDIATOR!  
  
Oh my GOD! He sure knows how to pick 'em, don't he? I mean, that was the only way to explain how they could physically touch her without going right through her, right?  
  
I kind of gasped, but then the biker guy rumbled over to Paul – and that was when it clicked . . .  
  
---  
  
. . . I would have made it too, if a three-hundred pound Hell's Angel hadn't suddenly materialized between me and the door . . .  
  
'Minions? You have ghostly MINIONS to do your bidding for you? What ARE you?'  
  
---  
  
It was BIKER BOB! From that time when Paul most evilly lured me over to his house and put the moves on me and tried to hinder my escape by siccing Sparky over here on me! You remember? I sure as hell do . . . and I'm not likely to forget it. My first lesson of the "Guys are pigs" class. Well, that and I also learned to wear granny shoes when seeing anyone of the opposite sex.  
  
I wonder what his real name was. I'd laugh if it was Bob. Or Sparky. Or Jimmy Choo.  
  
Excuse me.  
  
'Paul Slater! I heard that you were back in town,' Biker Bob growled at him, his motorbike grumbling dangerously.  
  
Um, oops.  
  
CRASH!  
  
I whirled around, and saw that there were a team of bikers circling poor Father Dom and Jack! Aww, crap . . . Everyone was still madly trying to get out, when all of a sudden, the doors slammed shut.  
  
How convenient.  
  
'Suze, the doors! They won't open!' CeeCee shrieked at me in panic.  
  
'Get them open!' I yelled back at her. I then ran over to the trapped priest and the squirt, and jumped onto the back of one of the flabby guys.  
  
I know, stupid. And kinda perverted. But don't go all innuendo on me, okay?  
  
'Hey, bucko. Rides over,' I hissed at him, and then rolled off with him.  
  
My God . . . I didn't know that ghosts could have BO THAT strong, whoa!  
  
'Puah,' I groaned, and squirmed from under his thick arm, kicking him in the stomach. He roared, but, using my remarkable God-given strength, I hauled him up and threw him into one of the other guys, crashing their bike.  
  
'Move it!' I yelled to Father Dom and Jack. But Dommy, of course, was overcome with the whole "reunion" thing.  
  
'Aaah, Susannah,' he said with delight, drawing me into an affectionate embrace, 'I am so glad that you came. May God be –'  
  
'Hi,' I smiled, looking up at him. But when I noticed that the huge statue of the ever-Merciful Mother Mary was about to squish him, I kind of yelled, 'Bye!' and shoved him out of the way.  
  
It barely missed me. Eeek, so much for merciful . . . she's just bitter she died a virgin, right?  
  
Oooh, bad Susie. Bad.  
  
Everything was shattering . . . the pews of the church were all being destroyed in this heated clash, the windows were still being shattered, the trapped people were screaming, Kelly looked like she was going to go into labour, CeeCee and Adam and Jack were trying to force the door open, and the bikers were laughing mockingly.  
  
Welcome to my dystopia.  
  
My world.  
  
Where all is bad. And chaotic.  
  
My snafu –  
  
'Paul, come and sodding help me!'  
  
Yeah, um, no one could miss that Pommie accent. Again, I jerked around, my heart beating fast, and saw that Danielle was being dragged away by about three bikers. Now, despite my certain disdain towards this young woman, I could not ignore the fact that three against one was a bit much. Especially when Paul was getting his bloody guts ripped out by just ONE.  
  
No, not literally. Bob was plowing Paul in the stomach almost mercilessly. I mean, you'd think a guy would know when to quit. I guess his former minion picked up that aspect from Paul. Paul was slowly falling to the ground. Not good at all. That was it, damn it.  
  
Eeesh . . . what a guy to piss off, huh? Wonder what Paul did. Probably called him a man-dike or something. Wouldn't surprise me...I mean, what kind of manly-man wears tight leather pants? Don't let the tattoo of the naked chick on his arm fool you.  
  
I sprinted over to the threesome of bikers – ew, that sounded weird – and said in an indifferent tone, 'Are you all related to that boulder in Raiders of The Lost Ark, Indiana Jones by any chance?'  
  
They all grunted, and rounded on me, shoving Dani over to Paul – who was still being pummeled, I'm happy to report. 'The little girl is insulting us. Let us insult the little girl,' they said.  
  
Whoa . . . that was lame. And, not to mention, they also sounded like cave- men. And smelled like them too.  
  
I could just imagine them all barreling over, and with a stick that they lit on fire or something...maybe a wheel, and sticking their tongues out at me, grunting while looking all prime-ape-ish.  
  
That would be . . . lamer.  
  
But no. They all, barreled over all right, and two of them tried to grab me. But I'm just sooo good, and I executed a flawless backflip, resulting in them crashing into each other. They bonked their heads, and were down. Er . . . this was kind of easy.  
  
I just love it when ghosts haven't seen the cartoons and don't know how stupid they really look. Aaah.  
  
The third glared at me in fury, and charged. I, however, simply jumped forward, shoved him to the ground, and – kinda viciously – cracked his neck sideways. Oh, shut up. He'd be fine in a minute.  
  
But you gotta love that crackly sound.  
  
Or is it just me?  
  
Yes, I am a freak. Get over it.  
  
Aww, no, I didn't kill him, he's just . . . um . . . sleeping.  
  
Yeah.  
  
'Get off me, you son of a –'  
  
Oh yeah.  
  
Him.  
  
Rolling my eyes, I sprinted to Biker Bob, and knocked him heavily sideways. He released a heavy 'Ooof!' and – OW?! – landed on top of me. Paul scrambled up, and seized him by the shoulders.  
  
'I thought – ' (punch) ' – I exorcised –' (punch) ' – your sorry ass –' (a couple more punches) ' – into oblivion!'  
  
'I do not take well to being your dogsbody,' growled Biker Bob, and again, started responding some of this lovely carnage. Okay, wishful thinking. Again, I dragged myself over, and boredly whacked Bob over the head brutally. He groaned, dropped Paul, and turned around to face me, looking outraged.  
  
'I have met you before,' he stated.  
  
'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Over on the floor, about two minutes ago.'  
  
'No,' he growled, 'At Paul Slater's house. He did not wish for you to be leaving,' Bobs said menacingly, taking an angry step towards me. What was he trying to do? Scare me with his formal speak? I'm sorry, but you can't take someone in tight leather pants all that seriously. 'Aww, man,' I whined, 'You know you can't take me.'  
  
He grunted in anger, and dived at me, but I picked up a broken piece of wood from the ruined pews. 'Why don't you take your intergalactic space troopers and shove them up you butt?' I snapped, and whacked him very hard on the head.  
  
I could have shoved THAT up his butt, but . . . ew. Forbidden territory much? This guy was like, sire of Fat Bastard.  
  
Besides, if I touched him, I'd probably get sucked into all the flab and never be seen again.  
  
Black hole, much? Ewww.  
  
'You guys must make a pretty big impression on people when the meet you. AFTER you fall on them I mean,' I said to him, bopping him on the head again with the wood.  
  
Oh, watch me go, I'm getting swat-happy.  
  
Bob stumbled, and then furiously grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against Paul. I groaned, and then kinda realized that I was, er, lying on top of him . . . and with my hair draping all over his chest, no less. His very, very hard chest . . . I felt my face go very hot. With his intern job and that stupid plastic girlfriend he had, when did he find the time to work out? OH MY GOD, Suze, turn your stupid brain off!  
  
'Hi,' he said.  
  
My cheeks burned even hotter.  
  
'Screw you,' I retorted, pushing against his very, very hard chest . . . to get up, you know?  
  
'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' he smirked.  
  
'What – ' I climbed to my feet angrily, throwing him a dirty look.  
  
Only to be knocked back on Paul by Biker Bob's fist.  
  
Whoa . . . some cosmic force really wanted us together, huh? Was this, like, the animal magnetism Adam was talking about earlier? An attraction that can't be denied?  
  
Um...ew.  
  
Pissed, I staggered up again, and was about to teach Bob a never-ever-push- me-on-top-of-Paul-Slater-ever-again-you-freak lesson, but Paul said lazily, 'Don't bother.' And then, I AM SO SERIOUS, with a single look, Biker Bob just spontaneously combusted! As in, fire all over him. Like Paul had poured gasoline on him and lit a match or something.  
  
HOLY CRAP!  
  
Okay, now it was PAUL that you didn't want to get pissed. Eeek, way to rebound, huh?  
  
I stumbled away from him in alarm, as he dashed over to Dani. There were still a bunch off bikie louts exploding random things. The chapel was a mess. A real, genuine mess. Leave it to me and my strange abilities to wreck the Mission once more. The Mission's been in some sort of repair ever since I set foot in there. But the chapel was going to be in a heck of a lot worse shape if I didn't get Bob and his lackeys back where they belonged.  
  
I busied myself by punching out as many of those stupid toadies as I could. Let me tell you, it wasn't easy.  
  
Some of those men . . . yeah, they had to be at least three hundred pounds, if not more. I was surprised their little motorcycles could even carry them they were so huge. And while Bob was mostly flab, the rest of his crew were muscular as all get out. I mean, muscles in their teeth, even.  
  
So while dodging falling debris, I marched up to one of Bob's cronies with an unfortunate flock-of-seagulls haircut and kneed him on his side. He fell back just a bit, pausing momentarily from damaging the baptismal candle.  
  
I wasn't going to get off easily with this one. He lunged at me with his might, sending me crashing to the floor. I recovered pretty quickly, thrusting myself up by kicking my legs which 'accidentally' kicked him in the stomach. Oops.  
  
He doubled over, wailing in pain. I had no idea I could do that much damage to a guy his size. I quickly ran to him to examine my work. I should have known that he was going to try to pull something . . . like grabbing me by the leg, causing me to crash to the floor.  
  
He stood up over me and pulled something out of his pocket. I couldn't tell what it was until I felt cool metal on my neck. A knife. The loser had a knife. I hadn't thought of that. I mean, come on, motorcycle gang? Yeah, what else would they carry, tissues? I can't believe I didn't see it coming.  
  
Aww, crud. This sucked, didn't it?  
  
'Suze! We got the door open!' Adam yelled in triumph, as people hoarded out of there . . . no one could see that Susannah Simon was being held at knife- point. Well, er, exaggeration. Except the . . . what, four other mediators present? Who, I might add, were kind of busy at the moment themselves.  
  
'Stand up!' Tubby above me yelled. Without waiting for an answer, he yanked me to my feet, and held the knife to my throat, holding me dangerously against his chest. Now, as much as I'd love to be close to a guy with muscles, this guy was kinda two hundred and twenty pounds too heavy for my liking. I gasped again, when I felt the sharp metal just under my chin. Oooh, this was SO not cool . . .  
  
'Eh hey,' I protested, 'This isn't very nice. I'm just, you know, a girl with no real way to defend herself and you go all weaponry on me? That's kinda mean, ya know? I mean, why are you even here? For money? Here, you can take it! I only, like, have a dollar or so on my, but - why do ghosts NEED money? A little greedy? I mean, dude, you're DEAD. Get over it -' I babbled on, until he shook me.  
  
Um, ow?  
  
'Paul Slater! Where is Paul Slater! We have come for vengeance. You do not enslave ghosts and get away with it, shifter!' the guy roared throughout the church.  
  
'Paul now would be a good time to - SHOW, you know so I don't - DIE, much?' I choked out. Where the hell was he?! And what did Tubs mean, enslave? Did Paul . . . were these ALL his ex-minions?!  
  
Holy crap!  
  
Paul had some major explaining to do. Of course, he was busy trying to take on two huge men by himself, which I hate to admit it, but . . . well, he was kinda doing an okay job. Considering, you know? The, um, suit and stuff? You'd think he was a black belt or something. Dani was busy too, slamming her knee into some poor guy's nose. Pretty good for a chick in a mini skirt.  
  
Me? Not so good. Being held at knife-point by someone twice your size is not all it's cracked up to be  
  
Especially when he's pissed at shifters in general, thanks to our friend Mr. Congeniality. Yeah, thanks Paul, you ruined the whole shifting-can-be- good thing for me. Holding poor, unrested souls as your little servants? Beyond uncool. Talk about opressive.  
  
'Slater's going to pay,' the man growled in my ear, 'And he's going to take the rest of you with him.'  
  
'But that's not fair,' I pouted, 'Most here are completely innocent. Like me, for instance. I've never used anyone as a minion. Innocent as the day I was –'  
  
'You,' he hissed gruffly into my ear, 'never stopped him from doing it. You'll pay too.' He pushed me closer into him, sliding the knife down to my chest, angling it at my heart.  
  
EEK! NAH, I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!  
  
One move and I was toast. Gone with the wind. Done for. Good as dead.  
  
I swallowed as I made my breathing more shallow, trying as well as possible to dodge the cold steel. What could I do? I couldn't very well make any sudden movements or speak for that matter. I was trapped in terror and fear. Breathing even became difficult. All I could hope for was that if he plunged that knife into my heart, that I would die quickly. And hopefully not come back.  
  
I began saying my prayers, apologizing to the Mother Mary about calling her bitter because she died a virgin. I mean, that's pretty noble, right? And the whole pregnancy thing was kind of an achievement to, you know? Not many people can do that. But maybe, if she could find it in that large, holy heart of hers to forgive me . . . I begged that she would send help. Any help.  
  
I mean, she's been tied with many miracles before. And that's what I needed...a miracle. And it wasn't long before my prayers were answered. Because the next thing I knew, a brilliant flash of light shimmered in front of me. And that light turned out to be . . . JESSE?  
  
Aww, crap.  
  
Prayers are answered in the funniest ways. The Virgin Mother must have a wicked sense of humor.  
  
Um . . . Suze don't need help.  
  
Take him back, now, please! When I asked for a miracle, I meant a good one. Not one that would further trap me in my dystopia...oppressing me, enslaving me. No thank you...I think I'd rather die, now.  
  
'Susannah . . . ' his voice greeted me with a soft, silent, silken touch.  
  
I felt broken.  
  
All over again.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Again, long. Sorry. And considering Lolly has writer's block . . . well, she didn't do too badly for her bits, right?  
  
What's the verdict, Hayles?  
  
Hayley- Are you kidding me, Lolly? You were great! Seriously, writers block my bohiney! Sorry it took awhile, but you know how it is. So what's this...Jesse's back? Talk about conflict! Tune in next time to see how this all pans out! 


	5. Kicking off the SIA

Someone asked us why this story is called Flashlight . . .  
  
Um, you tell us?  
  
Teehee.  
  
Nah, it's coming. Nothing big. It's more metaphoric. Teehee.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Now isn't the time for hellos, Jesse,' I snapped. Only when I said his name, it was kind of said with a fusion of contempt, anger, coldness and – so sue me? – anxiety. Er, hello? Basically on my deathbed here?  
  
But yeah. His name was acid on my tongue.  
  
Jesse looked a bit hurt for a few seconds until he saw my predicament. His eyes widened and he stepped back slightly, something flashing in his eyes. Something I vaguely remember seeing before . . . fear. I don't blame him, though. I mean, it's one thing to see me all grown up, but all grown up with a knife to my chest? He's probably all, like, "Nope, nothing's changed here. Not a bit". I couldn't very well say much else to him besides that. I mean, I could feel the sharp metal cutting my top. My best purple off-the-shoulder top that I snagged at half-price. Ain't it my luck?  
  
But my top did not matter anymore. I'm sure it'll all be repaired once I MEET MY MAKER! Oh, shit, I was so dead. That's because the ghostly hand that was holding me captive tightened his grip on me, saying 'It's a much better time to say goodbye.'  
  
I turned my pleading eyes at Jesse . . . sending him brain messages to save me. He always needed to save me . . . I was incapable of saving myself. I don't think he understood me though, because he just dematerialized. Left in the same way he came.  
  
Gone.  
  
'Hey!' I called back to him. But it was no use. He was gone. That was so like him too! To leave me when I needed him most. At least in my last moments I can live with the fact that Jesse de Silva hasn't changed a bit.  
  
The thing is . . . I tried to forget. I tried to let it go what he did to me. His words, I remembered, clearer than any I've ever heard. They were five years old, and a long time coming. But I don't think that I'd ever been so shocked in my whole life. I knew, deep down, that one day those words were going to bite me. But it came so sudden . . . too soon in my opinion. And they hurt way too much the way he said them.  
  
"Susannah . . . I'm not going with you."  
  
First it was that, then leaving me alone in on my hospital bed with a note, and now . . . it's this. Disappearing on me, in my time of great need. What's next? Taking the knife away from Biker Bob's smelly friend and plunging it in my heart himself? Well, that's what I felt like he was doing right now. And it was killing me more than the brute holding me hostage ever could.  
  
I was preparing my final few moments by closing my eyes, trying not to think of the pain that would soon come over me. I could feel the knife slowly lifting away from my chest . . . and in a matter of seconds, I knew, that the cold steel would find it's way into my broken heart. My eyes felt a bit wet as I thought about my mom, Andy, and my stepbrothers. Especially Doc. It was bad enough that I hadn't been there for him in the past five years, but for all eternity? I really couldn't handle thinking about it anymore. I wanted to die right then, if only to save me from my thoughts.  
  
And my life.  
  
I opened my eyes a bit, chancing one last look at the world around me. The world that I had created. The chapel was a wreck. Pews had been ripped up and thrown all about, while people were clawing at the door to get out, not knowing what the hell was going on. Father Dominic was using a stray piece of wood to keep the ghostly gang away from the Blessed Sacrament. Jack, CeeCee, and Adam were trying to calm everyone down, when Jack pushed them away from a falling piece of plaster. He grabbed their shirts and ran everyone away from the danger. I couldn't help but feel proud of him.  
  
This was my world. One obstacle after another. Conflict, and fighting, and rage, and hate. I lived here. I always would.  
  
Because I'm a shifter. This is that cross that I bear.  
  
Dani had one of the ghosts in a headlock, shrieking something violent at him. I couldn't tell what it was because her accent twisted the words around in the blur of the scene. The ghost she had, in one quick movement, body slammed her into the ground. She took the fall well, shifting to the side so she could get in a quick swift kick.  
  
And that is why you wear stilettos, ladies. They hurt like hell when you kick someone.  
  
Then, at last, I found Paul. He was struggling with three ghosts, all of them surrounding him in a triangle formation. The two behind him were trying to gang up on him, but he elbowed one in the nose and the other in the stomach in two fluid movements. The other one he was able to take on, first by stomping on his foot and then kneeing him in the nose. I turned red all of a sudden when he spotted me. Even though I was about to die . . . I still felt embarrassed. He seemed to stop dead in his tracks, his blue eyes wide with the same expression of fear that Jesse seemed to have. Before he left me to die.  
  
One of the bikers he punched out was starting recover. Paul didn't see it coming, but the bikette had helped himself up and took off the bandanna that was wrapped around his bald head. He held it over Paul's head and before he could bring it down to choke him, I shouted, 'PAUL, WATCH OUT!'  
  
Paul managed to duck out from beneath the threatening bandanna, grabbing it and thrusting the guy to the ground. I, however, was not as lucky. The ghostly biker who held me captive grabbed my hair and shoved my head back and brought the knife up menacingly.  
  
'Now I truly see who you pledge your allegiance to,' the biker whispered raucously, 'Say your prayers, little princess. It might be the only way to save you.'  
  
Before I had a chance to utter a single plea to the Lord our God, my captor let out a loud 'Oohf' and collapsed to the ground, letting go of my hair and dropping the knife. I whipped around quickly and saw Jesse standing over him, a piece of wood from one of the broken pews in his hands. He threw the wood down guiltily and looked to me with his dark brown eyes.  
  
Time stood still for a few seconds, my chaotic world spinning around my head in a whirl as I looked at Jesse. He . . . he came to the rescue. He didn't let me down this time. But I had to be angry with him. He let me down so much in the past . . . and nothing could ever change that. My hands broke out in a cold sweat as I looked up to Jesse from the groaning ghostly form at my feet. I could tell Jesse wanted to say something to me. Part of me wanted him to. Heck, my entire being wanted him to say something. To say how he was wrong. To say how much he needed me. To say what a big mistake everything was.  
  
But I never found out what Jesse may or may not have said, because I heard Jack yelling, 'Jesse! Jesse, help!'  
  
Jesse broke eye contact. I felt like he'd torn my heart out again. A chill ran down my neck.  
  
He ran over to Jack, who was trying to get to the door along with CeeCee and a few innocent Church goers. But three more huge bikers were blocking the exit . . . trying to gang up on poor Jack. Um, rude? Adam, CeeCee, and the other people born without paranormal powers had no idea what was going on, except that the chapel was falling down right before their eyes. And that Paul, Dani, Jack, Father Dom, and I were all battling with thin air.  
  
'Go take shelter under the altar!' Jack yelled over his shoulder to Adam and CeeCee. They nodded without questioning, ushering everyone to the altar, ducking under it. It remained the only thing still cemented in its place, the one thing that wasn't broken in the whole chapel. It seemed like a pretty good idea, just in case the roof happened to fall in . . . it would protect them. But not everyone fit under it. Adam helped Kelly and her big stomach under the altar, along with any other small children. Everyone else surrounded the altar, keeping in one central location, all holding hands and praying.  
  
'Okay, er . . . God?' Adam asked, holding CeeCee tightly, 'Are we on first name terms yet? I dunno . . . we haven't spoken in a while, have we? Well, I just wanted to say sorry for that, you know? It's nothing personal. Please . . . please for the love of, uh, yourself . . . SAVE US!'  
  
Everyone nodded their heads and said in unison, 'Amen.'  
  
I whipped around to look at Jack who, along with Jesse, were taking on the three massive bikers in front of the chapel exit. Jack was pretty quick on his feet, dodging all of their attempts with ease. I felt a wave of pride for a fleeting moment, until the guy that Jesse had knocked out earlier brought me to the ground. And it looked like he had hold of his trusty knife again. I totally forgot all about him.  
  
Murphy's Law sucks.  
  
'I'd hate for this knife to accidentally slip and cut your beautiful face,' he growled as he held the knife right in between my eyes. I jammed my eyes shut and desperately wished for this all to be over. A wave of deadly hysteria pinned me down.  
  
For some reason, I had this strange feeling. Like I could feel the knife hovering just inches above my head, without even seeing it. I could feel it shaking in the guy's clumsy hands. And when I felt it was the right moment, I rolled out from underneath the knife and quickly got to my feet. I kicked the knife from his hand, and it landed a few feet away. I propped my foot on his large, muscular chest and said, 'And I'd hate for my foot to accidentally slip and crush your not-so-beautiful rib-cage.'  
  
And that's when I stepped on his chest. He let out a loud groan and crouched in a ball. I ran over to the knife and picked it up. I ran over to help Jesse and Jack. One of them had Jack backed into a corner. I tapped the big jerk on the shoulder and knocked him out with the back of the knife when he turned around. 'Bully,' I scowled at him. Man, what happened to witty punning?  
  
Bully? Oh, that was SAD.  
  
Jack flashed me a huge grateful smile, but it was quickly wiped away when he suddenly heard some shouting.  
  
You know the altar idea? Yeah, not so great anymore. Because keeping everyone in a central location put a huge target sign on them. Like, "CRUSH US WHILE WE ARE ALL IN ONE PLACE" on a big post board. Yeah, that. And what's worse, the people had no idea what great peril they were in. Father Dom quickly grabbed one of the metal stands that held candles and used it as a pitchfork, poking them with it to ward them off.  
  
I had no idea Father Dom was so . . . so resourceful.  
  
Add that to his whole "let's be calm and reasonable when dealing with the undead" campaign, and it was kind of weird.  
  
But it was hard for Father Dom to operate such a tool with his priestly robes on. That explains why one of the stronger ghosts just grabbed the end of the homemade pitchfork and tossed Father Dominic to the side.  
  
'Father Dom!' I yelled as I ran to his help. I grabbed his arm and helped him up immediately. He brushed himself off a bit and then he looked worriedly at the victims of prey, standing at the altar, unknowingly surrounded by ghosts.  
  
The biker gang inched closer and closer to my former classmates menacingly. I was in shock . . . I couldn't move to save my life, much less anyone else's. But, luckily, Paul could, damn him. He positioned himself in between the mob of angry, leather-clad toughies and stretched his arms out, protecting the innocent people behind him.  
  
'Well, well, well,' one of the ghosts with a terrible mullet hissed, 'What've we got here? Looks like we have you right where we want you, Slater.'  
  
The ghost that held the knife to me earlier, taking the ring-leader position in the absence of Biker Bob, took a step forward and got up in Paul's face.  
  
'You thought you could control us like little puppets,' he growled as he jammed a finger at Paul's chest accusingly, 'but you were wrong. And now that we have your strings, we have your power too.'  
  
'Your collective power cannot even begin to compare with mine,' Paul said calmly for a guy that was staring in the face of someone with twice the muscles.  
  
This guy was FAR on his ego trip.  
  
'You want a bet, Slater?' Sparky wannabe snarled. Paul didn't have a chance to say anything because he – holy crap - began to levitate an inch or so off of the ground. But he was being lifted, not manually by Bob's replacement, but by the whole gang's combined supernatural power. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to stir the fear in all of us. Well, except for Paul, who seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing.  
  
Jerk.  
  
Then Paul's arms began to move automatically. They made Paul a human puppet. Their new little toy. And now, he knew how they felt, being controlled . . . being a minion. Doing their bidding for once, and not his own. Their bidding, you ask? Well, to get himself killed.  
  
They moved Paul's hands up towards his neck, holding it at first, as if he had a sore throat. But his grip kept tightening and tightening on his own neck. But it wasn't him . . . it wasn't him at all. They were doing this to him.  
  
Oh my God . . .  
  
'You knew it was only a matter of time before all of this would come back to haunt you,' the new leader shouted up to him. 'Too bad it had to happen so soon.'  
  
Paul was gasping for air, thrashing his legs about, trying to break free. He was dying now, by his own hands. And according to the motorcycle men, he had brought it upon himself. And not because he was technically choking himself, either. No, he decided his fate when he decided to abuse their loyalty. They weren't minions.  
  
No . . . they were slaves.  
  
Paul was strangling. He really was. Dani was screaming at them all, and Jack – much as I thought he'd grown up – had burst into tears.  
  
Me? I was actually kinda pissed.  
  
Primarily, with Paul.  
  
Ha, bad timing you say. Yeah, I know. But, he claimed to be so "oh look at me, dark, badass shifter in the house, I shall smite you all."  
  
And now he's killing himself.  
  
Isn't that so like him?  
  
But, despite all that he'd done, I couldn't just . . . let him die. I really couldn't. I'm not like that. So he'd ruined my life. Well, I was still "alive" right? Even if you couldn't exactly call what I do living, I wasn't dead. Paul would be, if I didn't do something.  
  
And suddenly, I felt myself getting angrier and angrier.  
  
With Paul . . . with these ghosts . . . and with Jesse.  
  
As my world of perfect pandemonium clouded in blackness, I felt my fingers crackle with dark power, with rage.  
  
Ghosts . . . they haunted us, they plagued us.  
  
But they were NOT going to kill us.  
  
They could NOT have that power over us!  
  
Over our LIVES.  
  
THEY WOULD NOT!  
  
And then, a roar of anguish, fury and wildness was stolen from my mouth, and my heart. With an explosion that brought half of the roof crashing down, and a white light that blinded everyone, Paul fell to the ground, perfectly fine.  
  
I couldn't say the same for our bikie buddies, though.  
  
No, they'd been crushed by the roof.  
  
Ew.  
  
You probably find that odd, don't you? How ghosts – made of no matter – can still be crushed?  
  
Well, I'd made them have matter, just to do so.  
  
And now I was terrified.  
  
Of . . . myself.  
  
As the silence greeted everyone, I fell to my knees, my eyes wider than they had ever been. I . . . what had I done? What had I just unleashed? Was this power . . . was it me? Had it been inspired by the rage that I had felt?  
  
What WAS I?  
  
I felt myself shaking a bit. The bikers were gone. As in, beyond Shadowland gone. I'd forced them to – somehow – move on. They were no longer there.  
  
I'd done that.  
  
I'd never done anything like that . . . but this? Wow, I was . . . destructive.  
  
Jack ran up to Paul, and threw his arms around him. 'They almost killed you! They almost made you die!' he yelled at him, hugging him tightly. Hugged him like only a brother could. I felt a rush of an emotion that I couldn't place, but it made me feel very strange. I don't know . . .  
  
Paul hugged him back, his eyes closed and his fingers tangling in Jack's messy curls. 'Almost, Jack,' Paul said with his eyes closed, 'but not quite. You can't get rid of me that easily. Everything's okay. I'm glad you're safe, buddy.'  
  
Had I missed something? Since when did those two become such chummy brothers? I mean, I could understand Jack having that unconditional love for his brother, but I always figured Paul didn't give a flying rat's ass about his brother. But his voice was protective . . . filled with fear, concern, and . . . love.  
  
He was making me sick.  
  
Paul, I mean. Not Jack.  
  
The try hard . . .  
  
Once they were done showing their plastic brotherly affection – well, in Paul's case, anyway – Jack rushed over to me, his white altar robe flowing behind him. I noticed with something like, well, pride at how much he'd grown up. He wasn't seven and scared, no way. He was thirteen and thriving. Oh, go the alliteration. 'Suze,' he said as he grabbed my arm, 'What did you do? You, like, sent them into oblivion or something.'  
  
I didn't say anything. I didn't really know what all that was about. It freaked me out, knowing that my potential power was greater than I thought. I could do so much more damage . . . if only I knew how.  
  
But I was not going to go there. Especially since the only person I could get the info from? That was Paul. And you could see where it all got him.  
  
Illusive attempted suicide, that's what.  
  
Yah. I do not want to have ghost minions.  
  
. . . Ew.  
  
I smiled very weakly at Jack and he dragged me back over to Paul. I noticed that everyone had now evacuated the chapel, thanks to CeeCee and Adam, who'd ushered them out with a coolness that I had to admire, for two people who didn't know what the hell was happening. The dust everywhere was unsettled. I could see it clearly floating through the air, through the rays of sunlight that now penetrated the sanctity of the basilica. Holy crap . . . everything was a mess. Chunks of the building littered the floor, and yeah, heavy dust caked the ground. All in all? I SO did not want to be the one cleaning it up.  
  
CeeCee and Adam scuttled over to me, brushing themselves down. CeeCee's hair was kind of, er, alive, with a slight Medusa thing happening there. Not that she could help it. I mean, you try kissing Adam McTavish and keeping your hair neat. He's kind of messy.  
  
Oh and of course, there's saving a whole parish from death and destruction.  
  
And the Adam thing? Totally as an observer, not as a receiver.  
  
What? Adam's a sweetie, but – um, just, no.  
  
Let's leave it at that.  
  
'Suze, babe, what the hell happened?' Adam demanded, not looking so silky smooth himself. His very good attempt at a stylish outfit was now tarnished with grey dirt. 'Whoa, you've got a huge bruise on your face, Suze!' he observed, 'Just on your cheekbone – '  
  
'Nah, I had that before – 'I started to say, but then closed my mouth abruptly. There was NO way that I was going to breathe a word about Cole Kennedy.  
  
Well, that's if I can keep control over my freaking mouth for five seconds.  
  
You all know me. Mouth of the South.  
  
Blah, it sucks.  
  
CeeCee gave me a funny look, as if to say, "Is there something you're not telling me, because you know that I can keep a secret even though I am a journalist," but the glint faded from her eyes. She looked around, and saw that Father Dominic was kind of having a rough time, standing up. Before she could move, I dashed over to him just as he was about to stumble again.  
  
'Whoa there, Holy Man,' I said slowly, as he supported himself with my shoulder. He blinked, and then turned around fully to face me. 'Oh, Susannah . . . it is you.'  
  
And with that, he pulled me into the largest, most affectionate and – er, yeah, most embarrassing hug I can recall, to date. 'May God bless . . . '  
  
After getting over the "Eeek . . . ease up there, buddy" phase, I smiled, and remembered, "Oh yeah, this is Father Dom. The other guy you ran out on five years ago, Suze. Guilt cue, now."  
  
'Never mind what God, blesses,' I told him as I buried my face in his shoulder, 'I'm just glad you're all right."  
  
Father Dominic let out an exasperated sigh and chuckled a bit, saying, 'Oh, Susannah, you look so grown up. It is nice to know, however, that some things never change.'  
  
I felt so warm in Father Dominic's fatherly embrace. He was, like, the grandfather that I always wished I could have. He had unconditional love for all of God's creatures, including little old me. Little old Suze Simon, who's life was seemingly unimportant in the vast scheme of things. Me, who had no control of my life. Me . . . an ass-kicker, a Chapel ruiner, one lacking that same strong relationship with God that he had. I was estranged from him . . . I was . . .  
  
A sinner.  
  
When we stopped embracing, I looked into his soft baby blue eyes and said, 'I missed you, Father Dom. I missed you so much.'  
  
Father Dominic patted my cheek, a wide smile adorning his minimally wrinkled face. I saw a single tear glide down his cheek as he replied, 'I missed you too, Susannah. There is one thing I haven't missed, however.'  
  
I frowned and asked, 'What? What don't you miss?'  
  
'How, somehow, any destruction of the Mission is partly your fault.'  
  
I laughed, shaking my head at Father Dom. Laughed pretty hard, too. Not because it was outrageously funny. But this was really it. I was seeing Father Dominic again, after so, so long . . . Just to add to this surreal situation, was seeing him again.  
  
Ha, and I'd just destroyed his chapel.  
  
I knew he loved this place with all his heart, and now it was wrecked. Not only was it a lovely place for worship, but it was also something of great historical significance. And I knew just how much Father Dominic loved history.  
  
I knew Father Dom. And he hadn't changed a single bit.  
  
I just kept laughing. He was beaming at me. 'Susannah, it wasn't that amusing, why are you – '  
  
But I cut him off with another hug. 'I'm just glad to see you, is all. Such a sin?' I asked. 'I mean, I'd go to reconciliation, but . . . '  
  
I cast a casual eye over to the confessional – or, what was the confessional. It had met its ugly end.  
  
My skin was tingling a bit. I wanted to pinch myself, just to make sure that I wouldn't wake up in my Starbucks apron. I needed to know that this wasn't joke that someone was playing on me.  
  
But the wiser part of my mind knew that this was happening.  
  
And I was glad of it.  
  
Only, my little reunion was cut short by FREAKING Paul.  
  
'Suze . . . whoa. I didn't know you had it in you. You've gotten good.'  
  
My eyes kind of flashed angrily. The fact that he was . . . that he was assuming things about me. Excuse ME?! Good? Hello, asswipe, that was the BIGGEST FLUKE OF ETERNITY.  
  
But only, I answered something a bit different.  
  
'Um . . . yeah . . .'  
  
Yes. I am aware of how badly and truly I suck.  
  
What can I say? Suze has changed. Suze has changed a lot.  
  
She's gone . . .  
  
'Haven't found a new teacher, have you?' Paul wanted to know.  
  
'No,' I said more to myself, 'my potential ability is off the scale. Unless they wanted more mass destruction, I don't see why anyone would. No one's insane enough.'  
  
'I am,' Paul said, dipping his voice low, causing my head to buzz. Why did he have to do this to me? WHY? Why couldn't I be immune to his voice, his charm, and his looks? A little help here?  
  
Just then, Dani glided our way and strung her arm in Paul's casually, looking up to him with her hazel eyes beaming.  
  
'Stop flirting with death, Paul,' Dani pouted, 'It makes me jealous. Not to mention very, very worried.'  
  
'A little flirt never hurt,' Paul replied innocently, 'as long as you know, Dani, that I only have eyes for you.' Paul placed his hand on her cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. Little did he know, but he was also stroking my gag reflex.  
  
'And besides,' Paul added with a smirk, 'Death's a little too dangerous for my liking.'  
  
And if you think I was grossed out before . . . to make things much, much worse, Paul pulled Dani towards him and kissed her quite passionately on the lips.  
  
Right in front of me. Right in front of the CHILDREN.  
  
Well . . . okay, Jack wasn't THAT little. And he couldn't be counted as two kids. And they were related, so he had to put up with it, probably. But . . . ew?  
  
What was he thinking, anyway? That I'd be jealous? Of them? Like I ever could. I mean, they weren't even that cute together. I mean, Paul should be with someone a little less fake in the chest area –  
  
WHAT was I SAYING?  
  
It was disgusting. Whatever little trick Paul was trying to pull over on me . . . well, it wasn't going to work. He can make-out with as many stupid British models as he wanted to, and it wasn't going to make me feel any different about him. Nope, no different at all. And I certainly wouldn't be a bit jealous. Nope, not me.  
  
'Um, hello?' I waved to them, 'I'm still here, you know. Little old Suze . . . yeah, hi.'  
  
Oh yeah, CeeCee and Adam and Father D and Jack were there too . . . but I'm sure that Cee and Ad were totally accustomed to French kisses. Jack was here strictly to learn, and Father Dom, well, he worked here. He had to watch people kissing at weddings and only have very small heart attacks.  
  
But me? I hardly even GET kissed any more.  
  
And it was kind of, um, gross that it was Paul. I was ashamed to say that our lips had ever made contact. God, I'd never say THAT in court . . . ew.  
  
'Sorry, Suze,' Paul said as he planted one last peck on Dani's lips, 'I must have gotten a little carried away. What were you saying?' Then he continued showering Danielle with small kisses as she cackled in delight.  
  
'I was saying . . . ' I started, but realized there was no point. 'Ugh, nevermind, just . . . get a room or something. No one wants to see that here.'  
  
Dani clung onto Paul's arm, and something flushed inside of me. I have no idea what it was. But . . . who cares? I thought that Danielle Moore was kind of pathetic. "Oooh, kiss me, make out with me in public and let's try and make your old friend jealous."  
  
Well, what is there to be jealous of? Huh? Tell me THAT?!  
  
Nothing. A big fat –  
  
'Susannah.'  
  
I spun around as something snagged very severely on my heartstrings. Jesse . . . oooh, no. In every bit of his spectral glory, he stood by the half- annihilated altar.  
  
I swallowed.  
  
Very, very hard.  
  
My eyes fell slowly to his feet, and I raked my gaze up his body, absorbing in every single tiny detail that had plagued me for five years, confirming that everything was still exactly the same as it had been. His pants still hugged at his legs tightly, and his boots still rose to his knees in that swashbuckling manner. His shirt was still white and it still opened to reveal the gentle dusting of chest hair. His abdominal muscles were still pronounced beneath the fabric, and his shoulders were still broad and strong. His whole stance was one of not oblivious confidence, and his hair was still crisp and black and every bit as sexy as the rest of him. He still radiated with that almighty spectral glow that only served to enhance his already hot self. It was NOT FAIR.  
  
I couldn't rip my stare away from his face, though. His strong, masculine jaw, his pale skin, his scarred eyebrow, his perfect lips that had once been on mine . . .  
  
But his eyes were the worst.  
  
For eyes that had been so unfathomable once, Jesse's were well on their way to actually showing emotion . . . They were still as inky and mysterious as ever . . . but when I looked at them now, I could no longer see a beautiful night sky reflected back. Instead, I saw rock. I wanted to see rock. I had every RIGHT to want to see rock! You don't understand, none of you . . . you don't understand how this guy butchered my heart. You have no IDEA. None!  
  
Jesse hadn't changed. Hadn't aged. Hadn't grown.  
  
And he thinks that a freaking "Hello Susannah" is going to get me to squeak a happy "Hey Jesse" back at him?  
  
DREAM ON, ENRIQUE.  
  
When I reached his eyes, I could feel them boring back into me. I felt it when he pinned me to the wall with his gaze, and when he tore at my thoughts with a total lack of control. Just seeing his eyes riveted on mine inspired the most painful thoughts that I'd ever experienced . . .  
  
That night when he'd said "goodbye."  
  
And had meant it.  
  
I suddenly felt something grip my body. No, nothing physical. It was an emotion. A furious passion . . . It caused my heart to burn and my face to flush and my fists to clench and my eyes to narrow and my blood to boil and my world to spin and my throat to go as dry as the Sahara . . .  
  
I was a volcano. I needed to explode. I needed for him to know – KNOW what he put me through!  
  
But as usual, I kept it all in . . .  
  
No wonder my mind is in shreds. I'm mutilating myself, keeping the hurt locked away from prying eyes.  
  
But that, by God, was where it was going to stay.  
  
Hidden.  
  
Taken to the grave.  
  
No one could know what I've become . . .  
  
So, ignoring the rush of bubbling, scalding rage that had seized me, I pushed it down for later . . .  
  
And I turned from him.  
  
'CeeCee, did everyone get out okay?' I managed, and flashed her a very quick smile. I heard Paul snort, and I rounded on him. 'What?'  
  
His eyes danced devilishly. 'That's it?'  
  
I choked. 'W – what?'  
  
Adam frowned in bewilderment. 'What?'  
  
Paul's hand slid around Dani more intimately, and he pulled her so she was under his chin. 'That's the hello you give de Silva, after five years?' He rolled his eyes boredly. 'No wonder he dumped you – '  
  
'Shut up,' I said dangerously, my fists balling again, but Paul shrugged. 'I'm just pointing that out, Suze,' he said innocently. 'There's no need to get all . . . hotheaded.'  
  
I swallowed down another wave of resentment. 'Get out.'  
  
Father Dom coughed. 'Excuse me for intervening, Susannah,' he said with a waver of anxiety, 'But could we, er, perhaps, discuss what is going to happen now?'  
  
Now we were all confused. 'Huh?' CeeCee said with a weird look.  
  
Father Dom looked irritated. 'Well, due to the fact that the church has been, er, damaged, as well as a small part of the school, I think that it would be wise to perchance, postpone the reunion.'  
  
'Well, duh,' Adam said bluntly. CeeCee elbowed him and gave him a scowl.  
  
I blinked at him. 'Postpone it? To – to when?'  
  
'Well, evidently, when repairs have been made to the Mission, Susannah,' he said. A small smile tugged at his lips. I couldn't imagine why. I mean, he'd just lost half the school. He's happy?  
  
. . . Don't tell me Father Dom's turned junkie since I've left –  
  
Don't even go there. I do NOT want to visualize him in – God forbid, leather.  
  
And one of those little spiky collars –  
  
ENOUGH, Suze.  
  
. . . Smoking pot?  
  
ARGH.  
  
I could have torn my hair out. After FLYING from Massachusetts to here, admitting that I was a loser to my best friend, screwing up my sleeping pattern, meeting Paul and his skank, getting a knife jabbed at my throat, seeing bloody JESSE DE SILVA again, Father Dom's like, "Oh, whoopdeedoo! Let's screw up Suze's pathetic excuse for a life even further and CANCEL."  
  
APPRECIATED, DOMMYKINS.  
  
'Well, I think that's reasonable,' CeeCee said simply.  
  
ARGH! SOMEONE SHOOT HER!  
  
. . . No, just shoot me, please?  
  
'I think that delaying the reunion is the smartest way to go,' Paul muttered slyly from his stupid corner with his stupid Pommie girlfriend with her stupid plastic – um, clothes. Er, yeah, clothes.  
  
What I'm trying to say is PAUL IS STUPID!!!  
  
. . . Uh huh? Reeeeal mature, Suze.  
  
'What about everyone that flew down here away from their jobs . . . their lives? You can't just POSTPONE it like that. I mean, some of us are totally busy, you know," I said as I crossed my arms and glared at Paul. Which, I noticed, was much easier than even muttering a simple greeting to Jesse.  
  
'They can go back to their jobs, if it's that important to them,' Paul countered, 'But I don't see why you're worried about that.'  
  
Why, that little poof!  
  
But . . . what could I do? The loser had me there. Why was I even fighting this, when the only job back home I had was to search for a new one, and my only life was waiting for Gina to call and tell me more about the things her rich boyfriend buys for her. Face it. I was pathetic.  
  
But nobody needed to know that.  
  
'Susannah, things should start back up in three to four weeks,' Father Dominic assured me, placing a slightly shaky hand on my shoulder. 'We have nothing to worry about-'  
  
Just then, a few reporters with microphones and camera crews following them rushed up to us, dodging the rubble as they inched closer.  
  
I'd like to see your optimism pass this test, Father D.  
  
Let me tell you, I did not find any of this fun. I mean, one of my biggest fears – besides bugs and Paul Slater – was people knowing about my 'ability'. It wasn't just being afraid about getting sent to a mental institution and being forced to wear those unstylish straight jackets. Dusty white is NOT my color, hello? But no . . . It was the fear that people would label me as a freak. Which is what I truly was. Pure, one hundred percent grade A FREAK.  
  
Another reason it wasn't any fun? Well, all of that flashing lights and the equipment and the rush of people here and there . . . it was dizzying. The reporters were hurling questions at all of us with no mercy. In the background, I could hear an ambulance, a fire truck, and a few police car sirens. Talk about sensory overload.  
  
Paul seemed to handle all of the questions with ease and utter professionalism. It was as if he talked to the press everyday. He took it up to be our official spokesperson, answering questions on the strange occurrence easily on our behalf. Lawyers . . . pssh.  
  
But when they asked what our names were . . . well, Paul set his foot down.  
  
'But, sir,' one of the male reporters pleaded, 'We need to know exactly what happened and who witnessed it. You want your names there, don't you? So all your family and friends can know it's you?'  
  
'It doesn't matter to us,' Paul grinned cooly, 'We don't need recognition for witnessing this event.'  
  
'But-'  
  
'We ask to remain anonymous, sir. If you want to go against our wishes, I'm afraid you'll find yourself with a hell of a lawsuit. How would that make your little television station look?'  
  
Everyone laughed hysterically. Well, everyone except for Jesse and me. Quite frankly, we knew that it wasn't funny. Because Paul really would take down a TV station at the snap of a finger.  
  
And I don't mean chucking a "Suze Simon" and dropping a roof on it.  
  
I could just see him slamming his fist on the paper to shut down that poor little TV station. Crushing the paper, just as he would crush the hopes of their station ever making it big like ABC.  
  
Paul wasn't just a powerful shifter. He was now well on his way to becoming a powerful lawyer. And that, my friends, is an even scarier thought.  
  
He knew the law well enough by now. Enough to know its loopholes, its shortcomings, its exceptions. Knowledge is power...making Paul all- powerful now.  
  
He became unstoppable. All I can say? Holy crap, we're all doomed.  
  
Smart people are just so insufferable.  
  
Well, maybe not CeeCee.  
  
Er, yeah.  
  
'Oh yeah?' asked one of the cockier reporters, clutching a microphone as a bunch of ugly guys wearing earmuffs and were carrying a huge camera that was pointed at the ground, 'Who are you to say that?'  
  
Dani, at that point, swelled with nauseating pride. 'He,' she stated, her chest puffed out – more than usual – 'is a lawyer.'  
  
'Well, actually, an intern,' I pointed out.  
  
Paul shot me a glare, and Dani looked like she wanted to force-feed me venom. Oh well, she deflated by that, I was happy.  
  
The reporter, looking cautious, gave Paul a quick nod. 'Okay, boys,' he said, 'Let's get the footage and go.'  
  
And . . . they left the chapel. Just like that.  
  
Aww, man.  
  
I blinked in surprise. That intern thing was supposed to make them go, "okay, let's get footage of this loser," while I quietly dragged CeeCee and Adam and Jack and Father Dominic out of there. Paul was NOT supposed to escape humiliation!  
  
But bah, he did.  
  
Isn't life cruel?  
  
'Hey.'  
  
I turned around to look at the Hey-er, consciously making an effort to avoid Jesse's eyes. He was still there – my God, he was still there – but I acted as if he weren't. As if he were –  
  
Dead. As in, really, really dead.  
  
I didn't care if he thought I was being rude. I was through caring about what he thought.  
  
'Hey what?' I asked Adam with a frown. I dragged my hands through my long hair slowly, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was barely messed up from the scuffle with the bikies. Well, that's nice. At least I can still kick butt without mortifying myself, mane-wise.  
  
Always a plus.  
  
Adam was staring at where the TV crew had left. 'Suze . . . what we just did . . . all of us. We just stopped a pack of ghosts.'  
  
'No, we didn't,' I corrected him, 'We didn't stop them, they still smooshed the chapel –'  
  
'But they're gone,' CeeCee butted in. 'You got rid of them.'  
  
I stared at them both. '. . . your point?'  
  
Adam was now grinning at CeeCee in an excited way, who was returning the look. He squeezed her hand and then looked back at me. CeeCee continued for him. 'Suze . . . what we all just did, that was – wow. We handled a crisis situation with poise, quick-thinking – '  
  
'And some really cool special effects,' Adam said quickly.  
  
CeeCee smiled wider. 'Suze . . . we could – ' she looked at Adam AGAIN.  
  
'What?' I demanded in exasperation, 'Just spit it out, please?'  
  
'Do not spit,' Father Dom said hurriedly. '. . . Oh, metaphorically, you –'  
  
'Suze,' Adam grinned, his eyes twinkling, 'We could . . . do that for a living.'  
  
I stared.  
  
Paul stared.  
  
Jack stared.  
  
Dani coughed.  
  
And then she stared too.  
  
Staaaaring . . .  
  
But CeeCee and Adam were now fixated on this weird idea.  
  
A . . . a living? Mediation, as a living? Yeah, what did they call my WHOLE LIFE? What, I didn't go through one week without seeing a ghost? A DAY, even? If that isn't a living, I don't know what it is.  
  
I mean, well, it's life. But life and living are the same, right?  
  
No. No way, Suze. You have a life, but you don't live it . . .  
  
I stopped thinking hurriedly, and glared between CeeCee and Adam. 'What the hell?'  
  
CeeCee's smile widened in tumult. 'Oh, come on Suze! Think about it! We could actually get rid of ghosts, as our profession!' she stressed. 'I mean, as well as our other jobs . . . this would, of course, be part-time –'  
  
'Full time for Suze,' Paul cut in nastily. 'She doesn't have a job.' I flared up. Do you SEE what I have to PUT UP with? A girl can't get a break around here, jeez. He's just being bitter because I dumped him a long time ago. Well no, I didn't dump him. I completely snubbed him.  
  
But then again, why would he be bitter about that when he has Danielle Double-D's for a girlfriend? And he gets paid a heck of a lot more than I do. You know what? I can't compete. Who's the bitter one now?  
  
'Well, you can take your intern position and you can shove it –'  
  
'Suze, I'm SERIOUS!' CeeCee snapped. I twisted back to her madly. 'CeeCee, that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard! What, we get paid to send ghosts to hell? Cee,' I said in a different tone, because she looked like I'd just told her that there really was no Santa, 'you can't even see them.'  
  
'But you can,' Adam said quickly. 'And so can Father Dom. And Jack. And them two,' he motioned offhandedly to Dani and Paul with a flick of his wrist.  
  
'Whoa there,' I stopped him angrily, 'You can't be serious, you two. You actually think that we should start some sort of . . . ghost-busting group? Are you ON CRACK?'  
  
CeeCee beamed at me. She really was living in some cracked-up dreamland.  
  
'Yes,' Adam grinned.  
  
CeeCee scowled at him.  
  
'I mean no,' Adam grinned some more. 'Not much.'  
  
I shook my head at the pair of them. 'Oh my God, you ARE serious . . . ' They weren't just mucking around. They were suggesting that we – Me, Jack, CeeCee, Adam, Father Dom, God forbid Paul and Dani, and the Devil forbid, JESSE truly join forces and what, battle evil spirits?  
  
. . . Drunken people talk more sense.  
  
I put my hands on my hips. 'No way. Absolutely not. It's gay. It's worse than gay. It's positively homosexual! I will not, I repeat, NOT – '  
  
'I think it's a marvelous idea.'  
  
I rounded on Thou who dared to defy Thee and Thy thoughts, but DAMN IT, it was Father Dominic.  
  
WHY DID HE ALWAYS MANAGE TO DO THIS???  
  
I was scandalized. I really was. You would think he, of all people, would put his foot down. I mean, five twenty-three year olds, one thirteen year old, a ghost, and a servant of the Lord? Talk about hell raising. I was truly thinking that he would be the voice of reason right along with me. I mean, he never went for any of my clever schemes, so why THIS one?  
  
'Father D,' I said, my mouth open, 'It's crap. It's not going to work. What, do we advertise ourselves?'  
  
'Obviously,' Adam said.  
  
Obviously? OBVIOUSLY?!?! And have people throw us in the insane asylum like some crazy FREAKS?!  
  
'ARE YOU INSANE?' I wanted to know.  
  
'Susannah,' Father Dom, with a bite of annoyance, interrupted. He took a step towards me. 'Do take a moment to consider this.' His baby blues were twinkling. He really, really wanted to do this.  
  
I accidentally gazed at Jesse. He nodded his head, adding, 'This is a wonderful idea. You would be using your collective powers for the good of people who need it. I support this idea wholly.'  
  
I ignored his comment, giving him the cold shoulder, as usual. Using collective powers for the good of people who need it? What the HELL was that? If you ask me the whole thing was stupid. Not to mention ridiculous, farfetched, and absolutely absurd.  
  
'Adam,' I said, not meaning to jump down his throat. 'You have no IDEA what it's like having to see ghosts ALL THE TIME. When they're not demanding the impossible, you know, getting their life back, they're off trying to slug you because you can't help them like you promised. It takes a lot of guts, pain, suffering, and absolutely no glory comes of it. It's hard work, Adam.'  
  
'Suze, it's not that hard. It takes some discipline, self-control, and a steady hand,' Paul said cooly as he ran a hand through his hair casually, 'Just as long as you don't fall in love with them.'  
  
All right . . . now I was furious.  
  
'Shut up!' I yelled at him, smacking his shoulder hard. He winced and threw me a peevish sneer. 'You have no right to say that you . . . you-'  
  
'Simmer down, simmer down,' Adam said as he made himself a human barrier between us.  
  
'Suze,' Paul said, ignoring Adam, 'This is a great opportunity. I know you tend to run away from such things, but Suze . . . this is too good to pass up. Opportunity seldom knocks twice, you know.'  
  
Dani stood by Paul and agreed, saying, 'It wouldn't be all that hard, Suze. Three mediators, two shifters, one ghost, and two researchers. I'll say that's a winning team if I ever saw one.'  
  
Jack, patting me on the back, added, 'Those stupid ghosts don't stand a chance.'  
  
Jesse frowned at Jack for a moment and then laughed, coming up and ruffling his hair. 'No offense to you, or anything Jesse. We want you around,' Jack apologized.  
  
Well, I didn't. I wanted him gone. Out of my sight. And maybe then, I could get him out of my mind.  
  
It wasn't until we had a small moment of silence, that I realized that everyone was looking at me. I was the only obstacle in their little plan. And I was not- I repeat NOT- going to go through with this. NO WAY!  
  
But . . . everyone seemed so excited about it. I mean, actually getting some monetary reward for our ability? I wouldn't mind that so much. Especially since my lack of job wasn't going to pay any bills anytime soon.  
  
Everyone looked at me. All eyes were on me. I did not like this. I mean, it would have been okay if I had have known they were staring at me in admiration of my very classy ensemble of purple and black . . . but I knew otherwise.  
  
I sighed. What else was there to do? But sigh, I mean. I had decided. I wasn't going to say yes. I wasn't going to get them walk all over me and make me –  
  
'Whatever.'  
  
HEY?! WHAT WAS THAT?! I DIDN'T MEAN THAT! I take it back!  
  
I glared in self-protest, but Adam was already looking perky. 'Wicked! Does that mean we –'  
  
'Wait!' I said. Adam stopped, looking crestfallen. 'This "we" thing. This . . . thing, it's not going to include Paul and Danielle,' I said, as if stating the obvious. I laughed at the thought. 'I mean, come on.'  
  
Paul blinked lazily at me. 'Of course it is. You couldn't handle the pressure of being the only shifter.'  
  
'I SO could – '  
  
'No, you couldn't. You said it yourself. You've had no one to teach you how to control your powers. You won't be strong enough for a group that would rely heavily on you,' he said smugly. Dani backed him up with some complacent smirking.  
  
I quivered in fury.  
  
What was this? Suze-as-target-practice day or something? The one-liners Paul threw towards me were getting terribly old. And not to mention cold. Yeah, some of them may have been true, but he didn't have to rub it in my face like that. I was SO not going to wake up to that every morning.  
  
Um . . . not that I'm going to have to. I meant that since we'll probably have early office hours and stuff, you know, and I'd have to look at him in business suits with over-priced ties and designer shoes. I didn't actually mean that I was going to wake up every morning-  
  
Oh, spare me, okay? It's been a bad day!  
  
To CeeCee and Adam, I spat, 'They are NOT in this thing! They're not cut out for –'  
  
'Excuse me, Sue,' drawled Dani in a voice that irritated every cell in my body to death – have you HEARD a whinier voice?! – 'I think that we are well aware of what we are capable of. More so than you, because we are both still currently employed.'  
  
Her accent stank of arrogance. I felt like punching her perfect little face in, poking out her extreme hazel eyes, and pulling out her flaming red hair.  
  
Only, I didn't.  
  
That'd be weird.  
  
I tried to force out some words of wild, agitated objection to CeeCee, but Adam cut me off. 'Now that that's sorted,' he beamed, 'What are we going to call ourselves?'  
  
Father Dominic smiled to himself. 'God's Messengers.'  
  
'That's lame,' mewled Jack.  
  
I second that.  
  
The lameness, not the, er, suggestion.  
  
'Specter Hunters?' CeeCee shrugged.  
  
Dani wrinkled her nose. 'I don't like it.'  
  
'I don't like you,' I said.  
  
She looked startled. It's not like it was some big secret or whatever. Maybe she's not used to people who don't worship the ground she walks on.  
  
Father Dom gave me a warning glance. I crossed my arms, glaring at the ground, away from the gaze of Paul, of Dani.  
  
Of Jesse . . .  
  
'1800–NO–MORE–GHOSTS?' Adam shrugged.  
  
'Have you been watching Lifetime again?' CeeCee demanded.  
  
'Maybe?'  
  
CeeCee gave him an accusing look. 'What?' Adam asked in indignation, 'Missing's a great series, okay? Based on that book by -'  
  
'Er . . . um... Death Hunters?' Jack shrugged, ignoring them.  
  
'Sounds like we're on a search for the Grim Reaper. Or we are all suicidal,' I sniffed in disdain. 'This is so stupid –'  
  
'The Afterlivers!' proclaimed Jack, proud to make a contribution to the group.  
  
'What, we're internal organs now?' I asked cynically. Jack scowled at me and then frowned to himself.  
  
'Spirit Seekers!' CeeCee stabbed.  
  
'We are NOT cheerleaders!' I snapped. I could just imagine Kelly doing our commercials. Well, after she popped the kid out of her womb.  
  
'Spirit Searchers?'  
  
'Sounds like a New Age group.'  
  
'Shifters Inc.' Paul submitted, smiling to himself smugly.  
  
'We're not shifters!' CeeCee and Adam protested.  
  
'Shifters, Mediators, Normies Incorporated, then,' Paul retorted, rolling his eyes at them.  
  
'I am also present,' Jesse said softly. Paul scoffed.  
  
'Mystery Inc.' sniggered Adam. 'Too Scooby Doo?'  
  
'Heaven's Advocates,' Father Dominic sighed.  
  
'How about we make up a name using all our initials?' Adam grinned.  
  
We all groaned.  
  
'ACDDJJPS?' I sighed, rolling my eyes, 'As if. This is so stupid.'  
  
'Alphabetical,' Adam shrugged, 'Give ya that.'  
  
'Ghost Busters?' Danielle suggested. I scoffed. 'Not the most original, you think?'  
  
'Fine,' snapped Dani, glaring at me, 'You think of a suitable name, if you are so clever.'  
  
I was seriously gonna suggest the "Bomb the British Co." but I stopped. And smiled.  
  
It came to me just then in a vision. We'd all be dressed in our swanky black spy wear, running up to the door of a haunted mansion. I'd bust down the front door with my black knee-high stretch boots and say something like: Stand back! We're with the-  
  
'Supernatural Investigations,' I said simply. 'It's what we are, right?'  
  
Dani started, 'I think that's shi –'  
  
'Perfect,' breathed Jesse from behind me.  
  
I refused to turn around and acknowledge him. I refused! I just shrugged in an unfeminine way at him, and went, 'Well, he likes it.'  
  
CeeCee nodded slowly at Adam. 'Yeah . . . I like that.'  
  
'And chuck "Agency" on the end for the hell of it,' Adam smiled. 'Makes us sound professional.'  
  
'God knows, one glance at you and they'll run,' Cee said fondly, and Adam drew her into a big hug and laid a sloppy one on her mouth.  
  
Oh, please . . .  
  
'The SIA,' Paul tried. He adjusted his tie importantly and cleared his throat. '"Stand aside ma'am, I'm here on behalf of the SIA . . . "Yeah, sounds okay.'  
  
'Oh, Paul,' Dani sighed gustily as she placed a hand on her heart, 'You make it seem so . . . sexy.'  
  
I scowled at the two of them. Hey, I was the one who thought of it first! You know, the cheesy breaking-into-the-house line. Mine was SO much better. Plus, it's harder to bust down doors in expensive alligator shoes such as the ones Paul wore.  
  
I could sound sexy while I said it too! Paul's not, like, the monopoly on sexy or whatever. I mean, he may look nice in those suits, but he can't beat my feminine charms. Father Dominic told me once not to use my "sexual wiles" to lure Jesse from –  
  
Bah . . .  
  
The point is, I was sexy. A priest nearly admitted it!  
  
Albeit, that was – what? – five or six years ago? But I got a whole heck of a lot of compliments from my former classmates before mass started. Granted, they didn't go, "wow Suze, aren't you sexy?" But, they, um, said I looked good. That's GOOD. And earlier that day Brad tried to flirt with me? Yeah, THAT? Totally gross, but still proving that I, in fact, still had it going on.  
  
Adam, too stepped forward, and with a very strange, stoned, corny expression, he leaned in towards Dani, humouring her. '"The SIA, ma'am, offers . . . many services . . . "' He wiggled his eyebrows at her and Dani giggled.  
  
Oh, PLEASE.  
  
I rolled my eyes heavily, still crossing my arms. I was not happy. CeeCee looked a little put out too. Jack was just staring with naïve eyes at us gross, strange adults.  
  
'Susannah,' Jesse said quietly.  
  
I turned around that time. He was standing right me, and again, an upsurge of something powerful and angry claimed me. He was looking at me up and down, smiling a little. 'Look at you,' he said, his eyes twinkling, 'You have grown up.'  
  
I didn't say anything.  
  
'Your hair,' he said, his eyes looking glazed as he lifted one of his hands to stroke it, 'It's longer.'  
  
'Duh,' was my oh-so-romantic response. 'At least a hundred and fifty five years hasn't, you know, impaired your judgment or anything.'  
  
He stepped a little closer, that light smile across his lips. But the only thing was, er, I didn't want him that close. I didn't want him to get close to me, oh, no, no not at ALL.  
  
And yet I let him. Get closer to me, I mean. But only because, you know, I was in shock. I mean, he was just pretending like nothing happened! Talk about appalling.  
  
He played with a strand of my hair from my roots to the end of the hair that rested at my shoulders. My skin tingled as his fingers accidentally brushed my arm. Why was I reacting like this? I certainly didn't want to feel those feelings again. I had to, as Mr. Lowe put it, "nip this in the bud".  
  
I looked in to his seemingly desperate eyes . . . pleading, appealing, and praying. For what, I did not know. But I had a bad feeling that it had to do with me. It had to be, with the way he was now touching my arm and the way his dark, cavernous eyes were sparkling like that.  
  
My nerves started going haywire and I felt very lightheaded. When I couldn't take it anymore, I turned away from Jesse and walked away.  
  
Moved on.  
  
Paul caught me walking away, and he blocked my path, asking with a grin, 'Where do you think you're going, Suze?'  
  
To tell you the truth, I kind of froze there. I mean, Paul may have changed, only according to himself, but he still frightened me the same way he did five years ago. His name still caused my blood to boil while my veins froze. His touch still caused my to quiver, and his eyes still burned on me.  
  
Aww man . . . I'm still seventeen . . .  
  
'Um, nowhere,' I squeaked as I tried to go the other way. He glided to the side where I had just tried to dodge him, so I went the other way and he did the same thing.  
  
'Go away,' I said, after getting tired of the avoidance dance. Paul smiled at me, showing me all of his perfectly straight white teeth. Though seemingly innocent, that grin sent chills up my spine. Bad chills . . .  
  
'Away is overrated,' Paul said, his voice dipping low again. Was that supposed to be funny? Or was it meant to scare me? I wasn't laughing, so I judged it as the last one.  
  
'You've done enough damage today, Paul,' I told him, crossing my arms cooly across my chest, trying to cover where it was ripped from that ghost that cut it with the knife.  
  
'My bad,' Paul said innocently. But I knew better. His eyes were twinkling with something . . . something barbaric.  
  
'That's it?' I asked incredulously. 'You're former slaves attacked you during mass, almost making you kill yourself. And all you have to say is "my bad"? What about "thank you"? If it weren't for me, you'd have been dead meat, Slater. Dead as a doornail.'  
  
'Give me some credit, Suze,' Paul said as he took a step closer. 'I could have saved myself last minute. You can't get rid of me that easily.'  
  
I scoffed and tried to walk away again, but he blocked my exit, causing me to almost ram into his chest. Then I would have had a mouthful of expensive tie. 'What is your damage, Paul? Besides the whole stinking chapel?' I wanted to know.  
  
'Well, actually, that was your fault,' Paul corrected me. 'Credit where credit's due, Suze.'  
  
MY FAULT?  
  
I didn't want to know . . .  
  
'Whatever. Go away,' I hissed. I just wanted him to leave. That was all I was asking. Very, very simple request. But he wouldn't budge. This time, I turned around fully to go in the opposite direction, even though Jesse was there, assessing the damage. What? I was desperate. I could just snake away from Jesse and go to CeeCee and Adam or something.  
  
But Paul wasn't having any of that. He grabbed my upper arm. I could feel his warm fingers through the fabric of my sleeve.  
  
'What do you want?' I asked lamely. What? The guy was giving me the creeps. My mouth wasn't taking over my body like it usually did. Fear was.  
  
'Thanks,' Paul said suddenly, not answering my question. I looked down at his hand, gripped on my arm. Then I looked back at his eyes, and I saw something there. Something that went away as soon as I asked, 'Thanks for what? Saving your life, or thanks for getting rid of your pesky ghost problem?'  
  
'For everything,' Paul's deep voice swirled around my head as he said it. He was making me dizzy.  
  
'You are impossible,' I told him as I swiped his hand away. 'I save your life, and then you crack jokes, making fun of me for not having a job. And then you try to say thanks? What do you take me for?'  
  
'Someone who's ungrateful,' Paul said with a frown. 'I said thanks, Suze. What more do you want?'  
  
I couldn't very well answer that question, because I really didn't know what else I was demanding from Paul Slater. Maybe for him to get an attitude adjustment. Or maybe I was asking him to get rid of his stupid model girlfriend, who was a total bitch. Whatever.  
  
I scoffed again, this time managing to break free of any other attempts to keep me in Paul's presence. I stormed over to Father Dom and crossed my arms. He and Jack gave each other a weird look and then continued the conversation with one last reporter who was jotting everything down quickly.  
  
'So you're saying that these were ghosts, Father?' the reporter asked suspiciously.  
  
'Yes, sir, it had to be,' Father Dominic said slyly, for an old guy.  
  
'What makes you say that?' the reporter asked skeptically.  
  
'We all had a strange feeling,' Father Dominic said, his eyes twinkling, 'But if the SIA hadn't been there, well...it would be quite a tragedy.' Father Dominic looked at Jack and I and with a wink he added, 'God bless them.'  
  
'The "SIA"?' The reporter asked, taking down a few more notes, 'Who are they?'  
  
'The Supernatural Investigations Agency,' Father Dominic replied simply.  
  
'Who?' the reporter asked again, his pencil stopped moving temporarily.  
  
'They are a group of individuals who use their paranormal abilities for the good of others,' I replied thoughtfully. Wait, Jesse said that. AGH!  
  
'They're like the Ghostbusters,' Jack added with a smile.  
  
'Paranormal abilities?' the reporter echoed, 'What do you mean?'  
  
'It's very hard to explain, because I wouldn't know,' I said, checking my fingernails, 'but they have something about them that we don't.'  
  
'Like a sixth sense?' the reporter asked, his pencil rapidly moving again.  
  
'I don't know,' I told him. If it helps, I really didn't know how or why we got these powers...we were just born with them. 'But, because of some fluke or whatever, they can see ghosts.'  
  
'Did the SIA tell you that?' the reporter sneered.  
  
'It's the only logical explanation, sir,' I said, doing everything in my power not to punch his face out.  
  
'If people were to have any problems, how would they get in touch with this "agency", then?' the reporter asked, a smug grin appearing on his face. 'Could you find them in the phone book?'  
  
'The phone book is not that recent,' Father Dominic told him, 'But we have their number right here.'  
  
Father Dominic looked at his hand, pretending to read a number from it, as if someone had written it there for him. Clever old priest...first using candles as ways to defend innocent victims, and now this? Maybe he isn't exactly the same.  
  
The reporter raised an eyebrow, but took the number down in his notebook. He thanked us for our time and then nearly skipped merrily to the camera crew, who was talking to Paul. Paul was reminding them about the lawsuit he was going to pound on them, if they were to mess with the SIA.  
  
'We can go to the teacher's lounge to watch the news,' Father Dominic suggested after he was done talking.  
  
'Sweet!' Adam exclaimed, 'I've always wanted to go in there. I mean, detention area, I know, but teachers lounge - '  
  
'You're soiling yourself, I hope you realize,' CeeCee said, patting his arm with a playful smile on her white lips.  
  
We had to step over all of the rubble to get to the exit to the chapel. We walked down the hallways, seemingly unaffected by what just went down. The sky was turning darker as it was nearing the time for the five o'clock news.  
  
The teacher's lounge was pretty small. I always imagined it to be, like, some sort of teacher getaway complete with a karaoke machine and a Hawaiian theme . . . you know, with plastic palm trees and such.  
  
But the teacher's lounge, in all reality, was just a room with a microwave, a fridge, a small television, a table, and a soda machine. Talk about disappointing. Bah, I'm sure as hell not working here. No wonder Mr Walden used to throw chalk . . .  
  
Imagine me remembering that . . .  
  
I smiled in spite of myself.  
  
Needless to say, not only was Jack unhappy with the mediocrity of the room, but so was Adam. They both pouted as they grabbed a chair. Father Dominic switched on the TV, and almost instantly we were shown what a mess we – no, I – had created. It looked so much worse on the news than it did from the inside.  
  
CeeCee nearly spit her soda across the room when she saw that the interviewed Debbie Mancuso. Adam slapped his knees laughing, as Brad, in the background, started waving and mouthing "Hi mom". It was pathetic.  
  
'We're live from just right outside the Carmel Mission. This just in,' the reporter's deep masculine voice echoed in the small teacher's lounge, 'There's a new ghost – busting team in town, the "Supernatural Investigations Agency", as they call themselves. The heroes that saved the mission from a most untimely end have now decided to form a team to get rid of any malevolent spirits. The group wishes to remain anonymous, but they did give contact numbers. For more information, you can go on our website and click the link provided.'  
  
'Whoa,' Jack said in response, 'They put a link to us on their website? Score!'  
  
'News travels quickly,' Paul told Jack, ruffling his hair a little bit. The kid never gets a break with the hair. I tell ya, he shouldn't even bother styling it or whatever he does to keep it so curly and silky.  
  
'Didn't you just give them that information, like, ten minutes ago?' I asked curiously at Father Dominic, who was looking up at the TV from where he was standing. He smiled at me and said, 'It's only a matter of time, Susannah. By tomorrow, we should have some business.'  
  
Just as he said that, Father Dominic's cell phone began to ring. We all sat there in silence, watching as Father Dominic reached into his pocket and flipped the phone open. It was a pretty nice phone, even if it was Church property.  
  
'Hello?' he answered the phone in his soothing, gentle voice. The rest of us weren't being that calm however.  
  
Father Dominic motioned for Jesse to get him a piece of paper and Father Dominic began writing on it, nodding his head in agreement. He concluded the conversation with, 'We would be happy to help, sir, thank you for giving us a call. We'll be there as soon as possible. God bless,' and then he flipped the phone closed.  
  
'Well,' a smile formed on Father Dom's face, 'I believe we have our first customer.'  
  
Everyone jumped out of their seats and began jumping up and down. CeeCee laid a big wet one on Adam, while Dani hugged Paul with her stupid British designer shoe clad foot slightly raised.  
  
'Did you hear that, Suze?' Jack asked, in reference to my lack of jumping around like an idiot, 'We have a customer. We get to start soon.'  
  
'Yeah,' I told him as I patted his shoulder, 'I heard.'  
  
Jack smiled and threw his arms around me in a tight hug that left me with no air. I patted him, trying to get him to loosen his grip. Then I remembered something. He's a Slater . . . known for their deadly iron- grips. Luckily, Jack uses it for the good.  
  
But, this job . . . whoa. It was happening too fast. I'd just gone from unemployed to – er, well, employed. I didn't even know what I was DOING. I mean, an Agency for getting rid of ghosts? People would laugh at that one. This was a joke. A complete joke.  
  
Like me.  
  
And PAUL AND DANI, on this thing? Um, how about NO?  
  
But everyone seemed determined to make me shut my mouth and bear it.  
  
I wasn't sure that I could, though. Because, this thing – this, job, it meant, well . . . working with Jesse. And Paul. And I really wasn't sure if I could handle that. Seeing them everyday. It didn't make sense to me, why I was agreeing to all of this. Maybe it was for CeeCee and Adam . . . they seemed to keen.  
  
Maybe it was because I was still shocked. You know, the numb thing going on and stuff? And my heart was pounding a little faster than usual. I felt as if I'd been in total darkness for so long, and someone had just flashed a flashlight into my eyes, with the intention of blinding me. This was too fast. This was happening WAY too quickly.  
  
"Don't go into the light . . . "the Gate Keeper had told me so long ago.  
  
I didn't know if I could do this . . .  
  
'Susannah,' Jesse whispered from behind me in a voice as soft as the wind, but sharp as knives to me, 'Are you not pleased?'  
  
Oh God.  
  
I DEFINITELY couldn't do this.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Hayley: Love you all in a non-gay way!  
  
Lolly: Just review.  
  
Both snigger. 


	6. Moving Fast

'Where is this place again?' I asked Father Dominic, looking doubtfully at the map of California that was strewn across his desk. I was still like, totally against this idea. Well, okay, not totally. But I was not too chuffed about it, suffice it to say. I had no clue what was going to happen. What, Ghost Busters? We were going to jump in there and kick some spectral ass? Well, um, how about – I don't WANNA be dubbed "insane"?  
  
But yeah. I'm already "emotionally unstable," what's a few more titles, right? Whatever . . .  
  
'Gilroy, California,' Father Dom pronounced as he pointed its location out to me on the map, 'The garlic capital of the world.'  
  
Oh, yum.  
  
'Are you serious?' CeeCee cocked her head to the side in curiosity. She was sitting on the edge of Father Dom's desk, playing with a slinky that she found in the drawer where he keeps the confiscated goods. Adam had some new portable gaming device and Jack was flipping through some skateboarding magazine. I was just sitting in the old leather chair that I always used to sit in when I went in for my daily chats with Father D. Yeah, daily. And not for the Good News of the Lord lectures, either.  
  
Heck, no.  
  
I wouldn't admit it, but it felt so comforting just being there again. I had no idea how much I had missed everything. Missed it so much that it hurt. But especially, I missed being guided. Without Father Dominic around, I never knew what to do. I had to figure it out on my own, and just pray that I didn't screw things up. But I always did. So I used shifting as a last resort. And let me tell you, I've been using the shifting method a whole lot lately.  
  
'Darn,' Adam said as he slapped his knee in disappointment, 'Then I can't go. My kind is not allowed there.'  
  
'You're a vampire?' Jack asked, rolling his eyes as he was checking out the various helmets. Obviously he has never encountered creepy old men who think they are vampires. Word to the wise, Jack? Always keep those number two pencils on hand.  
  
I felt a pang of pain at this little anamnesis. Aww, man . . . This wasn't going to stop, was it? I was going to keep on remembering . . . every little thing. And I was going to regret ever leaving . . .  
  
Adam turned around for a few moments. When he faced us again, he whispered, 'Vat do you fink?' as he showed Jack his teeth. Jack jumped about a foot in the air from where he was seated. He sank back down in his chair when he realized that the teeth were fake plastic ones that Adam found in Fr. D's drawer.  
  
I snorted loudly, and hid my mouth behind my fingers. CeeCee began giggling at Adam, who sauntered over to her, grabbing her and dipping her low, saying 'I vant to suck your blood,' and then pretending to bite her neck. And, er, in not such a vampiric way, after all.  
  
I'm talking, "Oooh baby, I want you" biting.  
  
Right in front of the holy man and the kid.  
  
Not that they were really paying attention to everyone else in the room anyway. It was like they lived in their own little CeeCee Adam land, where no one else existed but each other. Mmm . . . must be nice.  
  
'That's not too far from here,' I noticed, looking back at the map uncomfortably. It looked pretty close from what the map said. There was the Carmel-By-The-Sea area, Monterey Bay, and then Gilroy a little off a ways. Not too shabby for our first mission.  
  
'It will take at least two hours to get there, if not less,' Father Dom said as he shuffled around some papers. 'We need to make arrangements for transportation and lodging. We have very little money, but I'm sure we can find a nice motel around there –'  
  
'Father Dom,' I said flatly, 'I am not sleeping in a motel. Those places are disgusting.'  
  
Granted, I had been in a great number of motels in my day. None of the visits were all that pleasant. But I really couldn't afford much else. That's why, whenever I visit Gina, I very politely request that she let me stay in her apartment the duration of my stay. Well, that and her Godiva chocolate giving boyfriend? He has some really good connections to the best restaurants in New York. Staying in a motel could never compare.  
  
'Yeah,' Jack whined as he closed his magazine, 'They aren't very clean and they totally reek!'  
  
'Like you!' Adam said to Jack.  
  
Jack had sniffed his armpit instinctively, before he realized that Adam was smirking at him. Jack narrowed his eyes at Adam and cocked his head to the side. When he couldn't contain it any longer, a grin crept on Jack's face.  
  
Adam coolly slipped the vampire teeth back in and walked over to one of the curtains in the office, throwing it over his shoulders like a cape. I seriously hoped that Father Dom had sterilized the teeth, because . . . um, ew? Wouldn't want Adam to catch mono or Hepatitis or something.  
  
Father Dominic turned on his new spiffy computer and began looking up something. He mumbled the names of some hotels and motels, a frown growing on his face after seeing the prices.  
  
Adam's acting like a vampire made me wonder about our first job. I mean, was there a certain story connected to this place? Did the infamous crazy cat lady on the top of the hill live there? Maybe the place was infested with vampires or something . . . EW. Only one way to find out . . .  
  
'What's up with this place anyway?' I asked, crossing my legs and placing my hands in my lap.  
  
'It used to be an old boy's boarding school,' Father D replied, now searching for the fax that he just received from our customer a few minutes ago. 'The owner, Mr – er . . . oh dear, his name has been blotched out by ink . . . ' he frowned lightly, his more deeply manifest wrinkles appearing across his forehead, 'No matter . . . yes, this boarding school was called, if I am correct in pronunciation, Fortunaschwein.'  
  
CeeCee dropped the slinky.  
  
Jack lowered the magazine.  
  
Adam almost swallowed the vampire teeth.  
  
'What about tunafish?' he grilled, his eyebrows quirked.  
  
'Huh?' I gave Father Dom a weird look. 'Fortune swine? As in, pigs and . . . um, pig things?'  
  
'This was a school for humans, right?' CeeCee checked, leaning forward, her sleek white hair framing her even whiter face perfectly.  
  
Father Dominic's mouth twitched. 'I rather believe so,' he answered simply. 'Ninth grade till twelfth, I presume. And if memory serves,' he lowered the fax, his face going blank as he reminisced vaguely, 'There was some sort of tragedy that impelled the closing of the school. I do not recall, exactly, what that tragedy was . . . ' he said apologetically, his eyes glowing with soft blueness.  
  
'My bad,' Adam squeaked, imitating Father Dom. CeeCee smiled up at him. He was still behind her chair, tantalizing her neck with his fingers. CeeCee looked like she was in blissful Elysium. Again, must be nice.  
  
As opposed to Memory Lane.  
  
Was it just me, or was Father Dom getting a little senile? I mean, with the whole forgetting things so easily. It took him five minutes to find the keys to open his office. Father Dominic, I'm afraid, wasn't getting any younger.  
  
And yet, I envied him. Not that I wanted wrinkles or age spots or anything, I just wished so dearly that I could forget about the past five years in the same way Father Dom could forget about the tragedy at the Boarding School for Piggies.  
  
That's how you know I'm pathetic for sure . . . I wish myself senior moments. Great, just magnificent.  
  
'Lay off those who are holier than you, Adam,' I said as I shot him a warning glance. Father Dominic, even though he was very funny when acting old, was still one of my favorite people around. I felt inclined to defend him.  
  
Adam stopped touching CeeCee's neck for a moment and looked at me in mock confusion. 'Oh,' he said after a few moments, 'You mean Father Dominic.' He then continued on, tucking CeeCee's hair behind her ears and then tickling her a bit behind them, causing her to giggle a bit.  
  
'Hey,' Jack said, repulsed by the couple next to him, 'I'm right here. Hi, how are ya doing?'  
  
I smiled at Jack. I noticed that Jack's attitude was kind of familiar. He reminded me of, well, myself really. His voice was slightly tinted with sarcasm, and he sat in his chair much the same way as I used to . . . leaning all the way back with arms resting, fingers lightly drumming on the ends of the armrests. The way he sat suggested that he visited Father Dom nearly everyday and also hinted of a certain confidence in himself . . . one that I used to have.  
  
I was unstoppable, back in the day. I thought I knew everything. Anything was possible in my world. It was a nice place to live, really. A world where my biggest concern was if kicking a ghost's ass would ruin my shoes. Fashion, ghosts, and trying to grab the attention of a certain hottie were my high priorities. It all seems so childish now . . . but I was happy then.  
  
Reality hit one day and then I realized . . . my fashion sense turned into that ugly green Starbucks apron, the ghosts become more deadly, and that certain hottie didn't want to go with me . . . he didn't want to be a part of my life. Life, in a matter of a few hours one terrible day . . . turned for the worst.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
There was a horrible lump in my throat . . . he wasn't supposed to say this . . . he was meant to be kissing me, and whispering sweet Spanish that I didn't for the life of me understand . . . and loving me. Not hurting me like this, no . . .  
  
'I-I do not know what is holding me back, Susannah, but when I find out, that will be the end of me . . . of us.' His hands, I noticed, were shaking. But he had a soft hardness in his eyes. Like, he was trying to block out something very painful . . . or not show it. 'This is not easy for me. I want to be with you . . . but this is for the best.'  
  
I felt like I couldn't breathe.  
  
'I can't . . . I can't believe you're doing this . . . ' I whispered, barely audible.  
  
My mouth was open very slightly, and I felt a deadly chill. Like I'd fallen through an ice lake, into the freezing water below . . .  
  
'I cannot believe I am doing this either,' Jesse held his shaking hand out and looked at it. It was glowing. It always glowed. It served as a constant reminder that Jesse did not belong to this Earth any longer, and yet he was far from welcome in the spirit plane. He was stuck . . . stuck in some sort of limbo between the two, an outsider in both parts.  
  
A hollowness overtook me, combining ruthlessly with the feeling of terrible, everlasting cold.  
  
'I love you, Susannah. I wish you well . . . only the best. I may want to go with you, querida, but that is the last thing you need.'  
  
He thought he knew what I needed? He didn't know anything . . .  
  
Jesse stepped closer to me, reaching out his shaking hand to touch my face. His fingers were warm, but they made my icy face sting in pain. He let his eyes take over for a bit . . . searching mine for something, anything that could save us.  
  
He found nothing.  
  
Nothing.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
'Suze? Hello, earth calling . . . er, whatever planet you're on, preferably Uranus, because . . . well come on, you gotta love Uranus – '  
  
I snapped out of my stupid memory, and looked at Adam, who was waving his hand right in front of my face. Oh God . . . I felt as if these memories were stronger and more imprisoning, back in Carmel. They held me captive, and were relentless, back where the energy was strong, I guess. Carmel was the hotspot, the location of all of these things . . . But it was scary to think that I totally blanked out from the world, when I was consumed by these recollections. Very scary . . . 'Huh?' I asked in a daze.  
  
'All right, Space Cadet, it's time to return to your home planet,' Adam joked, pointing to the globe that Father Dom had near his desk.  
  
My home planet . . . where was that again? Certainly not Earth, because it was plagued by pollution, global warming, and we had a hole in our Ozone layer. The planet I hail from? The conditions there were much, much worse.  
  
'I guess I zoned out,' I apologized, my face flushing. 'It's been a long day.'  
  
'That is quite all right,,' Father Dominic assured me with his soothing voice. 'I was just saying that we need to meet at the boarding school by early morning tomorrow. Is seven all right with you, Susannah?'  
  
I blinked at him, not hearing him for about six seconds. Then, delayed, I registered what he said. 'Oh, um, yeah. Great. Seven rocks.'  
  
CeeCee leaned forward, slapping Adam's hand off her shoulders – he was trying to give her a neck massage but his hands were obviously chilly, otherwise she wouldn't have squeaked like that. Squeaking is my terrain, thank you. 'Er, Suze? Are you . . . ' she cast a circumspect look at Father Dom, who was searching the net – yes! The priest-beast has succumbed to technology – 'Er . . . do you do drugs now?'  
  
I stared at her. Jack looked up from the skateboarding mag, grinning insanely. 'Ha, she thinks you're on crack – '  
  
'I'm serious,' CeeCee said with a frown. 'Suze, those things are addictive, you have to remember that they can seriously cause you damage – '  
  
'Hello?' I snapped, 'I am perfectly drug-free, thank you. Crack is whack.' I gave her a glare, and she backed off with a sarcastic, 'Well, sorry.'  
  
CeeCee eyed me suspiciously one last time, and then returned to Adam-poo, patting the hand he had on her shoulder.  
  
'So basically our new job is getting rid of some ghosts that are haunting this former boarding school?' I asked Father Dom. 'What do they plan to do with it once it's ghost-free?'  
  
'Mr- um, I forget his name-, he plans to make it a bed and breakfast or a small hotel, I believe,' Father Dominic replied, sounding proud that he remembered something. What I'd give to be in his shoes. Well, actually Dr.Scholl's isn't really my style.  
  
'What happened? I mean, how does he know he place is haunted with ghosts?' I asked.  
  
'I . . . I think it had something to do with his wife. Some strange paranormal experience happened to his wife.' Father Dominic turned away from his computer to face me. The look on his face was blank. He pried his brain for a few more moments and shrugged, turning back to the page, which was only partly loaded. 'Oh, wait. That's right . . . they ran it in the papers the other day. His wife was rummaging around in one of the dormitory rooms, when she was all of a sudden locked in. They had to call the fire department to assist her. Oh, my, that must have been frightening indeed.'  
  
'What about him? Has he seen anything?'  
  
The computer made this annoying beeping sound just then, and the blue screen of death appeared on Father Dominic's computer screen. Father Dom uttered some very colorful four-letter words at it, banging his fist next to the keyboard.  
  
'Father Dom!' I shouted, scandalized. I mean, sure, I um, said that one all the time, but – Father Dom didn't– he was . . . HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOLY.  
  
Ugh . . . kill my perfect little world, why don't you?  
  
But – to think . . . a man that reminded me constantly to keep my mouth clean began cursing at a computer. He was a man of God for God's sake!  
  
Well, THIS sure as hell was going down in the baby book.  
  
Day 1: Father Dom says a yucky word.  
  
Day 2: Father Dom goes Matrix on us.  
  
Oh . . . I shudder to think . . .  
  
Jack smirked widely in satisfaction. 'Ha! Father Dominic said – '  
  
'Jack!' I yelled, covering his mouth with my hand. Great . . . now Father Dominic's sailor mouth was now corrupting the youth. Not that Jack wasn't already corrupted by having to watch his brother's make-out sessions with stupid British models.  
  
'You are way too young to use such language,' I scolded Jack, waving my pointer finger at him as my mom used to when I was his age. Jack scowled and tried to bite it, but I quickly moved my finger away. Kids these days. . . and famines . . .  
  
Father Dominic muttered a hasty apology as he tried to restart his computer. Jack was still grinning to himself. I knew he was silently regretting not having a tape recorder on hand.  
  
We can dream.  
  
I gave a sigh. Maaaan, I'd missed a lot. Since when was Dommy a potty mouth? Man, I would have loved to be at the butt-end of THAT. Father Dom – acting sanctified again, thank goodness, my head could only take so much, you know? – looked a little embarrassed. And so he should. Humph, all those years of telling me not to swear, not to use God's name in vain, not to spit, they'd all blown up in his face.  
  
Kaboom.  
  
Frowning a little, I moved to the corner of the room behind Father Dominic, near his bookshelf. His top draw was open. I noticed the absence of his emergency pack of cigarettes. Yay. At least my leaving benefited someone; Father D will live for another twenty years now.  
  
I muttered to him. 'Father D . . . why do Paul and Danielle and Jesse have to be in this thing?'  
  
He stopped clicking madly with the mouse, and turned to face me. 'Susannah, Mr. Slater has explained that already,' he told me.  
  
'What?' I demanded, 'That I can't take it? THAT'S the explanation? Oh, great. Way to make a girl feel better about herself. Really . . . I feel confident enough to audition for the Miss America pageant now. Thanks.'  
  
His fluffy eyebrows furrowed. 'No, I do not mean that. They are here because . . . well, strength in numbers, Susannah.'  
  
'And Jesse?' I asked hotly. 'Why him?'  
  
He blinked at me. 'Susannah, why are you so against this whole idea?'  
  
'Because . . . ' I started, but then I trailed off. What's the use? No one would ever be able to understand. Jesse and Paul? They caused me great pain in the past. Such a terrible pain that haunted me every time that I woke up in the morning, every time I donned that ugly apron, every time Cole hit me, and every time I retired to my bed for another restless sleep.  
  
'First of all, Dani and Paul aren't going to take this seriously. They'll probably take this as an opportunity to make-out some more. And Jesse? Yeah . . . he IS a ghost. Wouldn't that be a little bad for our name . . . a ghost busting team that has a ghost following them?'  
  
'They can't see Jesse,' Jack pointed out to me. Darn kids and their logic.  
  
'I just don't see it ever working,' I said, ignoring Jack.  
  
'Come on, Suze,' CeeCee pleaded, 'At least try it. We may be able to do without Paul, Dani, and Jesse, but we certainly can't do this without you.'  
  
For a moment, I felt very touched. CeeCee just admitted that the SIA needed me. Me . . . Susannah Simon. Headcase central. People relied on me. Mr. Whoever-he-is had a job for us to do . . . one that couldn't be pulled off without me.  
  
But then I realized that that was a load of crap. CeeCee, being a sound reporter, knew exactly how to coax people into telling her things. And what she was doing, telling me that they needed me, was just another plot to get me to say yes. It wasn't going to work this time.  
  
I wasn't going to be deceived, so . . . blah!  
  
I supplied her with a miffed gaze. 'That's bull, Cee. Of course you could do this little ghost-buster-wannabe thing without me. I mean, hey? You have Super-Shifter-Paul on deck, right? I'm just there as a dumb sidekick or something.'  
  
'Robin was a cool sidekick for Batman,' Jack said, so engulfed in his magazine that he really didn't get what we were talking about. He was SO not helping.  
  
'But Robin was always Batman's shadow,' I replied. 'There is no Robin without Batman. And without Paul playing main shifter, I'd be, well-'  
  
'Interior décor,' Adam said thoughtfully.  
  
'Yeah, what he said,' I snapped. CeeCee shot daggers at him, and turned back to me. 'No, Suze. You're there because we need you. You're apparently a very adroit shifter – '  
  
'More bull, Cee,' I butted. 'You didn't even know what a shifter WAS two hours ago. So don't give me that. Look, long story short?' I said, my hands officially on my hips and I gave her an ultimatum, 'Me, or those three.'  
  
'Susannah,' Father D began reprovingly, but Jack got in. 'Er, Suze, don't be all PMS-y, please. That's totally not fair.' He pouted. 'I don't want you to not be in it. But Paul's my brother. Dani's his girlfriend. And Jesse's my best friend.'  
  
. . . Oh, joy. That.  
  
I shrugged. 'Well, I get the point.'  
  
I know! I was being a right little brat. But, er, hello? I was NOT about to willingly plunge into a job where not only would I have to see PAUL'S face 24/7, but Jesse's! I wasn't emotionally or psychologically ready to do that. The torture that only a few hours of seeing them again had triggered, well, it was almost unbearable. Picturing me all calm and collected? Yeah, maybe on the surface. But beneath that? Get a clue, I was a wreck.  
  
The thing is, I could hide it so well. In my psychology classes they told me that such behavior was truly dangerous. I knew that slowly my inner turmoil would eat away at my insides like acid. It'd also leave a nasty burn.  
  
I refused to do this to myself. I WOULDN'T. They had NO IDEA what I had went through, trying to forget! I was already ripping apart my mind, tormenting myself just BEING here. I wasn't going to be in this pathetic SIA with – with them.  
  
Both of them.  
  
Together.  
  
Oh God . . . hell . . .  
  
'Susannah, please be reasonable about this,' Father Dominic said as he shook his head. Oh, no. Here it comes . . . the stop-being-childish-and- start-acting-like-an-adult-because-you-are-one-now-and-you-can't-blame-this- on-teenage-hormonal-problems-so-ha-busted speech. I've heard it a zillion times. From employers, my mom . . . the lot of 'em.  
  
'Save it, Father D,' I said as I put up my hand to quiet him. 'I know what you are about say, and trust me, it will not do you a lick of good. I will not- I repeat WILL NOT- go on this little escapade if those three happen to attend. I'm sorry that's just the way things are.'  
  
Jack pouted at me, his lower lip quivering just as it had when he first told me that he could see ghosts. His wide blue eyes were filled with sadness and a hint of a tear was welling up. I knew this was just an act . . . Jack probably used this face whenever Father Dom or Jesse told him that he couldn't do something. I should know . . . I've used the face before.  
  
But the thing is...he just looked pathetic. And yeah, I'll admit, a little cute too, with his sad, sparkling eyes peeking out from under the brown curls that fell in his face. I became a victim of the dreaded pouty-face.  
  
'Fine,' I grumbled, holding my hand over my mouth, looking away from everyone.  
  
DAMN THE SLATER PUPPY EYES.  
  
'What? What was that?' Adam asked as he leaned over, cupping his hand over his ear. 'You might need to speak up. Father D's a little deaf now that he's an official senior citizen.'  
  
'I said FINE,' I growled. 'Happy now, guys? Gosh, the things I do for you all . . . teach you swimming, vice presidency . . . giving up punching people . . . You all owe me. Big time.'  
  
'Oh Suze!' CeeCee squealed. 'I knew you'd come around! This is going to go great! You won't regret it.'  
  
'Thanks, Suze,' Jack said shyly. 'I'd really have a hard time breaking the news to Paul and Dani that they couldn't join. I'd rather work with you.'  
  
I beamed and ruffled his hair playfully. Only, this time instead of scowling at me, his smile grew wider, his shiny white teeth nearly blinding me.  
  
'Jesse, however,' he said, a grin tugging at his lips, 'I would sneak in.'  
  
Everyone laughed, except for me. It was so not funny. This . . . it was certainly no joke.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Home sweet home at last. After a long evening at the Chapel, it was a nice surprise to come home with dinner on the table. Everyone was at the table, eating peacefully like a family. When I used to live here, I never ever would have imagined calling my mom, stepfather, and stepbrothers a family. But now they looked very picturesque.  
  
Everyone was eating Andy's home grilled hamburgers with fresh French fries and a home grown salad appreciatively. And me? Well, I was late. My empty chair, my tired soul, and my growling stomach beckoned.  
  
'I never thought you'd make it home,' Brad – no, Dopey joked as I took a seat. 'That thing at the chapel was pretty freaky, eh?'  
  
He was asking me if it was freaky? Uh, duh, Bradley, it was quite possibly the freakiest thing that had ever happened.  
  
Of course, he didn't know what was going on the whole time. He would have been even more freaked out if he realized that there was a dangerous biker gang that was after his former classmate Paul Slater and everyone that got in their way. He didn't see the motorcycles that tore the pews to shreds. He didn't even see the knife held at his own stepsister's chest.  
  
I'd say he wouldn't know freaky if it came up and bit him on the butt.  
  
Poor freaky . . . ew.  
  
My mom fixed me a plate, shooting a few chanced glances at me. 'Do you know what caused the incident?' she finally asked when her curiosity got the best of her.  
  
I let out a huge sigh. I loved my mom to death, don't get me wrong. If I were a normal woman, I would run to her and tell her all of my problems. But the only thing is she, like everyone else, would never be able to understand. Even if she did know that her only daughter was a liaison between the spirit plane and the Earthly plane, she would never know the hardships I had to go through to keep this whole thing a secret.  
  
I did, for a few moments, consider telling her. I even thought to come out to my whole extended family . . . the Ackerman brothers and their father. David already had a hunch about me, and I'm sure Jake and Brad would understand. Jake would finally be convinced that I am no longer in a gang, and Brad would finally be convinced that there really was some truth to the nickname "Queen of the Night People".  
  
But then again, my worst fears were bound to my heart like super glue binds to two fingers. I just could not spill my guts about my ability.  
  
So I swallowed and replied, 'No, mom. It was totally weird, you know. It was like some unforeseen force was ripping up the pews.'  
  
I hated lying to my mom. It was one of the worst things in the world. But after keeping this from her for so long, I could not blow my cover. It would be way too hard to back out now.  
  
'Hmm,' Jake grunted, wiping some ketchup from his chin with his napkin. 'You know, that's probably the most exciting thing that's happened here in a long time, Suze. I'd say everything got a little more quiet since you left.'  
  
I literally froze . . . my fork raised to my mouth. I set the fork down, clearing my throat nervously. Sleepy, though not the smartest or most awake of my stepbrothers, noticed that weird stuff only happened around me. I was busted . . . I was as good as admitted into that insane asylum. Straightjacket chic? Here I come . . .  
  
'So, Susie,' my mom changed the subject suddenly, 'What are your plans? I mean, since the reunion is cancelled. Are you going back to work? You could stay here and invite Cole to stay with us too. I would love to meet him sometime.'  
  
I began to choke on my food. Brad reached over and patted me on the back as I tried to swallow my food correctly. Cole Kennedy? I nearly forgot about him. Cole . . . the guy that abused me, hit me, and tore me down to nothing. I guess I was too busy worrying about two former flames that decided to parade in my life again. You know the long lost love of my life and the guy that I love to hate? They were back . . . back to ruin my life once more. And my mom wants me to invite Cole Kennedy over to my house? To meet the innocent members of my family?  
  
This officially sucks.  
  
'Well, I uh-' I stumbled, searching for the correct story, 'I think I'm going to, you know, er, go to, um, Canada. Yep, I'm going to Canada.'  
  
What the HELL was I thinking?  
  
'Canada?!' everyone asked in unison. I even noticed Max giving me a questioning glance from my lap. Oh man, me and my big mouth. Why the hell would I go to Canada? I don't even like Maple syrup all that much. Or hockey for that matter.  
  
'Yeah,' I said, trying to dig myself out of the hole. 'I'm going with, um, Gina. Uh huh, Gina and I wanted to go to Canada just for the heck of it, you know? We'll be crazy twenty-three year olds wandering around in a strange country. Teehee.'  
  
Andy looked at me in disapproval. 'That sounds-'  
  
'Interesting,' Doc burst in, laughing uncomfortably, 'It sounds very, very interesting.'  
  
I shot Doc a strange look. He smiled at me, giving me an assuring nod. Good ol' David . . . always being the hero. Whether it be offering his room to me bravely, doing some necessary research, or helping my parents drop an unwanted subject, I always knew I could trust Doc.  
  
'I'll be fine, Andy,' I assured him. 'I'll send you some postcards. And maybe some of that maple syrup too.'  
  
Andy forced a smile, I could still sense that he had some misgivings. Well, in reality, he had nothing to worry about. I wasn't even going to Canada. In fact, where I was really going wasn't even all that far away. I know that Canada was stretching it, but hey . . . it was effective. I mean, Canada is known for hockey and stuff and Gilroy is known for, well, garlic.  
  
You can tell this will be more fun than a barrel of monkeys. And the monkeys will have garlic breath.  
  
Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, mom, and Andy were all looking at me very strangely. It hurt that I couldn't tell them the whole truth. They were so concerned about my well being, and I was just pushing them away. Running away from them . . . again and again and again.  
  
It suddenly became too much. I stood up and excused myself from the table, taking a few dishes away with me. My mom insisted that I let her do the dishes instead. I felt really, really bad for letting her do all of these kind things for me.  
  
I mean, I had been a terrible daughter these past five years. I lied to her countless times . . . about my love life, my job, and about my livelihood. And now I was letting her wash my dishes? I officially suck.  
  
'Susie,' my mom said, before I could manage to slink away, 'Are you sure you're all right? You aren't too upset about what happened at the Mission tonight, are you?'  
  
'Um, no mom,' I replied softly, 'It's all good, you know?'  
  
No, it wasn't all good. It was all bad . . . all terrible. But the more I lied, the more I hoped to believe myself.  
  
'If you say so, Susie.'  
  
'What's THAT supposed to mean?' I snapped, placing my hands on my hips. Of course she'd never believed me. Had I given her any reason to in the past? I mean, with all of the times I'd come home in cop cars, or woken up the next day with unexplainable bruises on me. It wasn't fair of me to snap, but I just wanted her to leave me alone about it.  
  
'It's just that, I don't know, you haven't been the same since you left, Susie,' my mom said, a little shocked and hurt.  
  
Of course I wasn't the same! My perfect life dumped me and left me with a life that just could not live up. The love of my life gave up on me, and I sought the comfort of one of my sworn enemies . . . and in the end, I ended up burned. I deserved it though. I deserved to live in misery.  
  
'I'm fine MOM,' I growled, 'so just please, please leave me alone. It's been a long day, okay?'  
  
My mom looked like she was close to tears, all because of me. But hey, I told her I was fine. Why couldn't she just trust me, like I wanted? Plus, it wasn't any of her business. She didn't need to know the goings on in my life. That was for me to know her never, ever, EVER to find out.  
  
I exited the kitchen with a tugging feeling at my heart. I couldn't help but feel guilty again. My emotions were interchanging. At one moment I felt mad at everything . . . at my mother and the world, and the next I felt extremely guilty and depressed. My life was an emotional roller coaster . . . with its ups and downs, sharp turns, and loops. I never knew what was going to happen next.  
  
But I do know that right now? My life is on the verge of the last major drop.  
  
I headed up the stairs and rounded the corner to my room when I saw someone leaning against the doorway of my room. When I got closer, I realized it was Doc.  
  
'Um, hi,' I said as I looked at the hand he had on my door, 'What's shakin'?'  
  
'How's the ghost thing?' Doc whispered.  
  
Whoa . . . sure hasn't grown any more tactful in the past five years. But in all seriousness, Doc knew that the whole deal at the Church had something to do with ghosts. He's not stupid.  
  
'How'd you guess?' I asked sarcastically, rolling my eyes expressively.  
  
'Well, Jake was right. The paranormal activity left when you did,' he replied with a smirk. 'What happened? At the Church, I mean?'  
  
'Long story short,' I said, leaning my head back on my closed door, 'this whole gang of ghostly bikers decided to crash because they had some unfinished business with Mr. Slater. It wasn't very pretty, but Father Dominic, Jack Slater, Danielle Moore, Paul, Jesse, Adam, CeeCee, and I were all able to handle it.'  
  
'D-danielle Moore?' Doc asked, gulping, his brown eyes going wide behind his glasses. 'Oh my God, the famous English model, Danielle Moore?! With the big –'  
  
'Oh, shut up,' I snapped.  
  
'What?' he frowned. 'I was going to say big hair, you sicko.'  
  
'Yeah, well, there's another first impression you get when you see her,' I said darkly. Doc raised an eyebrow questioningly, so I motioned at my chest area. He got the hint, blushed, and cleared his throat to change the subject.  
  
'So I assume you must have something to do with this new group . . . the SIA?' he said, changing the subject. I was glad of it. I did not want to talk about Danielle. Just because she was a known supermodel, I didn't need to hear her biography from Doc. My God.  
  
'Guilty as charged.'  
  
Doc smiled at me, scanning the premises for a moment. 'Come with me . . . I need to show you something,' he whispered as he grabbed my hand and led me to his room. I blinked in surprise . . . okay . . . He opened the door cautiously and flipped on the light switch.  
  
His room hadn't changed in the past five years really. I mean, he still had models of the solar system hanging around the room along with the Periodic Table of Elements and a picture of Albert Einstein. He also had the same collection of books, along with a few additional books piled around in neat stacks. The only thing that stood out in his room, besides the new green plaid bedspread, was one lowly picture of a woman on his wall. My, my how our little Doc has grown. But I looked at the picture more carefully, instantly recognizing that bitchy face and glowing hazel eyes.  
  
David had a picture of Danielle Moore hanging on his wall. Eww.  
  
I tried to ignore the overly airbrushed image that was staring back at me, sneering, "Haha, little Susie. I'm more beautiful than you are. So hah" and I stepped in. What was Doc THINKING? Having her on his wall? Did he get DRESSED in front of that? Oh my GOD. What was with Doc and being interested in big-chested models, anyway? Was he harboring some fantasies that I didn't – and didn't want to – know about?  
  
I think that "eww" covers this nicely.  
  
Doc closed the door behind him, and began searching his closet for something. He finally pulled out a box and set it down on his bed. I sat down on the edge of his bed and peered inside the box. It had all of these funny little gadgets inside with all of these buttons on them and such.  
  
'What's all this?' I asked Doc curiously.  
  
'Well, I'm pretty sure funding for your new group is pretty scarce,' Doc explained, 'but these items ought to get you on your feet. This is some pretty high-tech equipment that some of the most well-known ghost research groups use in order to hunt down paranormal activity.'  
  
'You mean, we aren't the only ones out there?' I asked, in shock.  
  
'Of course not, Suze,' Doc replied. 'You'll find hundreds on the web. They even hold conventions and such. But they are a different type of people. They can sense ghosts very strongly, and with the aid of this high-tech state of the art equipment, they are able to find out if there are ghosts nigh.'  
  
I blinked a few times. There were people out there that believed in ghosts. People that could even sense them strongly. People like me. Maybe I wasn't as crazy as I thought I was.  
  
Of course, they had all of this fancy-smancy equipment to work with too. All I ever had to work with was just my plain ol' ability to spot a ghost on the street. And maybe a phone book or some old records. All of these electronic gadgets and gizmos looked a little much, you know? The buttons, gages, and metal doo-dads on it were pretty intimidating.  
  
'Can you explain some of this stuff?' I asked. 'I mean, some of this stuff looks complicated to work, you know?'  
  
Doc nodded as he pulled out a plastic rectangular device and held it for me to see. 'This,' he pronounced, giving it to me, 'is the Gauss Master EMF detector. It is used to measure the direction and magnitude of a magnetic field. Many use it to detect slight drops or increases in pressure that might have something to do with paranormal activity.'  
  
I pressed the button, and read the meter. The needle pointed in one location, never waving. I took that as being normal.  
  
'Here is a tape recorder. You will need it for recording EVP's-'  
  
'EVP's?' I asked, interrupting him.  
  
'Electronic Voice Phenomena,' Doc explained. 'Basically, it's a recording of spirit voices on magnetic tape. Many times you hear nothing during the process of recording. But when you play it back, you might catch some whispers or moans.'  
  
I heaved a shudder. Ghosts had that type of power? To be able to mask their voices to the world, but making it appear on tape? That was way creepy, knowing that there were some things about ghosts that I, in fact, did not know.  
  
'This thermometer is really cool,' Doc said enthusiastically. 'Look at this.'  
  
Doc pointed the gun-shaped thermometer away from him and pressed a small button. It made a small beeping sound. Doc lowered the thermometer and showed me the display screen, which read 74 degrees.  
  
'It takes the temperature instantly!' Doc exclaimed.  
  
'Wow . . . Doc- er, I mean, David- all of this stuff is amazing,' I told him as I put the EMF detector back in the box. I was pretty impressed with how neat some of the stuff was. I mean, instant thermometer? Totally awesome!  
  
'One last thing,' David said as he scoured his room. He pushed a few papers aside, and looked through a few drawers. For a smartie-pants nineteen-year-old, Doc sure was messy. Finally he looked behind the open closet door and picked up something. He brought it over to me and set it on my lap.  
  
'This is the most important thing. Your flashlight.'  
  
I stared at the cold, heavy flashlight that lay in my lap. My flashlight. Most important thing? Er . . . okay. This was going to be very, very interesting.  
  
'What does this do? Instantly exorcise ghosts? Works like, an instant bomb?' I asked with a grin.  
  
Doc stared at me. 'Actually, it's just a flashlight.'  
  
'Oh,' I said, disappointed.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
It's hard to describe, how I felt. It was like, for a long time I had been living somewhere that was dark and cold. My body and my mind had learned to adapt to this climate. And now I was back somewhere with extreme heat. And I couldn't handle it. It was excruciating. It was such a harsh change and I didn't know if I could even learn to deal. I felt like my mind was a blur. It was a painful blur. Everything I saw was through half-closed eyelids, like five years ago, when I woke up on that hospital bed, I'd woken up with a horrible hangover even though I didn't drink anything.  
  
I felt like I'd had a hangover that had lasted for five gruesome years.  
  
All my memories were so overwhelming. Even as I was just there with Doc, I felt my skin tingling in something like . . . I dunno. Like it was painful, just talking to him. Just remembering the nerdy little David Ackerman who pleasured us all to detailed definitions about the importance of safe sex. This guy before me, he was Doc, but he was different. So different. I knew that I'd run away from him. He'd grown up, and I hadn't been there for him. I hadn't been there for anyone. I was no one's pillar, no one needed me. They'd all grown so fast, yet the time that had passed had gone oh so slowly. I felt like I couldn't even understand time anymore. Nothing really made sense. My whole life was one big confusion, one disappointment after another.  
  
But now . . . oh, the SIA. What was I getting myself into? Could I really do this? Fight ghosts for a living? The living vs. the dead? Because God knows the ones we're going to be dealing with weren't gonna be some pansy- assed ghouls who liked hopscotch and afternoon tea with jam scones. Oooh, no. They were gonna be the rough stuff. The big leagues. I didn't know is I was ready for that. Psychologically, mentally, emotionally, physically . . .  
  
But most of all, I just wasn't ready for Jesse.  
  
He was the biggest thing that loomed before me, now.  
  
I know, I know. "Jesse's so nice, he's so hot, he's so sweet, he's SUCH a gentleman, oooh, I'd like to make some sweet, sweet – "  
  
No. That wasn't how the game was played anymore, girls. Jesse wasn't . . . well, I mean, he was still the same JESSE. He was still all gorgeous and wonderful and chivalrous and stuff, but . . . I couldn't ever look at him in the same light as before, you know? Pre-in-love-with-him? Those were my sunshine days. Now I was in my ice world. My winter wonder land. I was hibernating, waiting for the sun to shine again . . . waiting patiently in a depressed, scared silence for Mr Right to come along and fill the emptiness in my heart that Jesse had once occupied. I was waiting to forget about him. I needed someone to make me forget . . .  
  
But no. All they gave me to forget about our favourite 6 feet (under) Latino lover was a violating asshole who couldn't take no for an answer. In other words, Cole Kennedy and every other man in my life that used me as a trophy girlfriend.  
  
A big thanks from the Susie corner, guys. Really.  
  
I just . . . I just felt like I'd been thrust into the spotlight and I wasn't ready to sing yet. Like I'd never be ready.  
  
I couldn't face Jesse.  
  
And I sure as HELL couldn't face Paul. Not everyday. Not ever, hopefully. Especially when I spent so long planning what my life was going to be without him. I used to think that Jesse was all I needed to be happy. But Paul proved me wrong by pointing out that whenever Jesse took off, I would run to him. Which, though I hated to admit it, was completely true.  
  
I did everything I could to prove him wrong, though. And yeah, maybe I slipped up a few times by kissing Paul. But Jesse suddenly wanting out of my life so soon seriously hurt me. I needed comfort from someone who knew the story, and one who knew me. Of course, that meant running off to Paul and crying on his shoulder, all while he was trying to manipulate me to be his in my moment of weakness. It was difficult to try to push Paul away when he was offering me so much to me. But somehow, I convinced myself that nothing Paul would give me was enough.  
  
Then all of a sudden, by some miracle, I had another chance to perhaps change Jesse's mind. I felt maybe everything might turn out all right, just as Father Dominic always said they would. But then Paul showed up again, and threw it all back in my face . . . and Jesse's too. I was faced with a choice, in the end . . . a choice that got me nowhere.  
  
I was quick to snub Paul for Jesse. Paul said his last bitter goodbye, and I returned from my nightmare all alone in the hospital room. I had expected Jesse to maybe stick around or feel sorry for me. But all I got from him was one measly note. Just like that, I was kicked to the curb, just like Paul.  
  
Life began to suck.  
  
It was like no one even cared how I felt about this. They really were pushing me into this whole stupid deal. They were actually being kind of manipulative. I know it's bad to say that about CeeCee and Adam, but it's true. They probably didn't even want me there all that much, and they sure as hell didn't need me. They had Paul and Dani – the famous English model that everyone LOVED – to guide them on their path of spectral righteousness.  
  
And heaven forbid Paul should want me there.  
  
If he did, it was only to rub it in my face about how wonderful his life had turned out. How he had everything I'd ever wanted. How he actually had something.  
  
I had nothing.  
  
"Hi, I'm no one."  
  
This was me, now. Sad, isn't it? I was such a disappointment. Or maybe I wasn't. Maybe people could see that I'd be like this. I liked helping people. The ghosts. I mean, I'd always complained, but I'd felt GOOD once they'd moved on peacefully. That had taken over my life. It was the ghosts that had pulled me down, reduced me to this thing that was only half alive.  
  
Half dead.  
  
Jesse was a ghost . . . it was as if his love had slowly made me die.  
  
Well, bucko, you're halfway there. Don't stop, by all means. Make everyone happy and FINISH THE JOB???  
  
Oh, joy of joys. Susie's a suicidal freak. Let's all stop and laugh in ridicule.  
  
And subsequent to that, move on to Dani, to bow down and stare in wonder.  
  
It really wasn't fair . . . how some people can have so much perfection in their lives. Why can't we all be equal? Where is the justice? Paul was perfect. He'd gotten everything that he – okay, I – had endeavored to obtain.  
  
You watch. He wanted me to know that I'd lost. That I was now inferior to him, instead of it being the other way around.  
  
It's like they say with magic.  
  
What you do will come back to you, three times over.  
  
I was gonna get three times what I'd done. To Jesse and to Paul. I'd hurt them badly. I'd actually made them truly unhappy.  
  
This was my penalty. I just didn't know why. I mean, so yeah, I'd hurt them. They were over it. Why couldn't I get over it too? Why couldn't I just forget about it? Why did I have to relive all the lows of my low life, every morning and every night? And every moment in between? I just didn't understand why I couldn't be at ease with what had happened in my past.  
  
Ha. And Father Dom wonders why I'm not exactly God's biggest fan. Take a look around, Dommy. Do you see anything worth praising here?  
  
Except my hair. That was probably my crown and glory. The thing that made me Suze Simon. I had the most gorgeous hair. And it made me happy.  
  
Not much makes me happy these days.  
  
I am being totally serious.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
I was in my room again, packing my stuff after only just unpacking it. Andy had set up my boxing bag when he heard I was coming back, and I was very appreciative of this gesture. So after getting ready to drive to Gilroy at like, 5am – thanks Father Dom, just because YOU don't suffer from morning breath – I turned to the boxing bag, putting on the little knuckle protectors that I'd bought when I was fourteen. And then I just started letting go . . . letting it all out. Like physical diarrhea – I just couldn't stop once I'd started until it was all gone. Soon . . . I was attacking the punching bag. As if it were, you know, Cole or something. Or Jesse. Maybe even a little Paul. Or just your typical, brain-dead, sex- junkie. I wanted to rip apart all those who just treated me like a STINKING Barbie doll girlfriend.  
  
I wanted it to stop. I wanted it all to STOP.  
  
I punched and punched. A furious light sweat broke out across my skin, and I was panting . . . and thumping, and trying to STOP IT as well as try to stop MYSELF. Man, I was gone . . . I was furious . . . my fists were pounding with overuse, and my head was roaring in fury and savage protest. My eyes were screwed up and the muscles in my face were strained in concentration, and anger. I was punching, and punching the bag –  
  
And with a blue shower of materialization, I was punching Jesse.  
  
I fell back in shock, as Jesse was knocked right through the boxing bag. I blinked in shock, my spell of rage broken.  
  
'W – what are you doing here?' I demanded, standing up quickly and wiping my upper lip hurriedly. The back of my hand glistened with tiny beads of sweat. Oooh, attractive Suze. Very.  
  
Why did I care?  
  
God . . .  
  
Jesse stood up, looking kind of freaked. I guess I couldn't blame him. I mean, it must be a little odd to get punched in the face immediately upon arrival. Like, "Hello – OW! NOMBRE DE DIOS!" in Jesse-speak. Not that I can – or could – ever decipher what the hell he said to me. I mean, the Spanish was one thing. But when he didn't mean what he said? Well, that was worse.  
  
Like, I remember "te amo, querida." There? Shiny example.  
  
I glared at him, and then looked down. My hair was drawn back into a tight ponytail – something I despised, but hey? Have you seen my hair after a sticky punching round? I think it's safer to keep my locks out of harms way. Maybe some day I'll like, have a ten thousand dollar investment in my hair. No spoiling it now, right?  
  
So yeah. We must suffer for beauty sometimes.  
  
Me? I just suffer for everything else to. Oh, lucky, lucky me. Let's take a moment of our time to sincerely thank the gracious Lord, not?  
  
He didn't seem to care about the whole ponytail thing. Or even the sweat thing, funnily enough. He took a step forward – just one step, thank you – and regarded me with an abstruse gaze. His eyes looked darker than ever.  
  
Hell, I didn't care if his eyes looked like molten chocolate. They'd always appear as fresh dog shit, now. I . . . I just couldn't look at him and not hate him. Not after what he did. Even if it WAS "for the best," my God.  
  
He thought I was BETTER OFF living like this?!  
  
Man, does he need a rude awakening . . .  
  
'Jesse, get out,' I said to him in an icy tone. He just kept staring at me, as if trying to find the right words. I didn't want to hear it. So I kept punching vigorously. And no, not him – tempting, but demented.  
  
'Susannah,' his soft voice broke in. I stopped for a moment, and turned around to him, my eyes odious. 'What? Need an exorcism? Oh, happy to help.'  
  
He looked hurt for a fleeting second, but ignored what I said. 'Susannah,' his accent was graced with a gentle, genuine concern. Oh, touching. About as touching as it had been when my fist had just touched his face.  
  
Hostile? Me? Never . . .  
  
'We need to talk.'  
  
I groaned again, and whipped around to face him – again. 'You know, Jesse? We don't. We really don't. I'm perfectly clear about us, at the moment. So yeah, just you know, go rattle your chains elsewhere that's away, and not here.'  
  
And I continued to punch.  
  
He sounded annoyed. Like I cared? What, he didn't care about me, why should I care if I'd – oh shock, horror – hurt his feelings? Puah. I was starting to doubt if these ghosts had any . . . stupid life ruiners they all were . . .  
  
And the hot Latino gentlemen? They are the worst.  
  
They make you think that they're in love with you.  
  
And then they leave you to rot.  
  
Yes, just reeking with decay here, hi.  
  
Punch . . . punch . . .  
  
'No, Susannah, you do not understand. It is vital that I speak with – '  
  
'You know what?' I whirled around, my face one of thunder, 'I really don't have time for you now, Enrique. I'm busy punching. If the boxing bag wears out, hey, I'll give you a call, okay? But as of now, I'm great. No talking required. So I think I already asked you to get out.'  
  
His face darkened, and he took an angry step towards me. Instantly, my confidence oozed out from my feet. 'Susannah,' his voice was entwined with something of more . . . anger, and woe. Blah, Jesse. Blah. 'It is indeed true that we will be working side by side in this Supernatural Investigations Agency.'  
  
'Hence the reluctance?'  
  
Punch.  
  
'Please, would you stop?' he requested, a bite of frustration in his tone. I ignored it, and continued in rancor.  
  
'It will . . . it will be just like old times,' he said softly.  
  
Whoa, BACK UP THERE.  
  
I stopped, and turned to glower at him in fury. 'Don't you dare,' I said in a voice that resonated my abhorrence. 'Don't you dare remind me, Jesse . . . it won't be "just like old times." Nothing ever will. That time has been and gone. It's over, and it's dead. Like us, Jesse. I hope you come to terms with that soon, because over these five years, I've learnt to deal. Please follow my lead?'  
  
He was just staring. Not a word. His gaze was so intense that I had to avert my own. I felt an illegal blush crawl across my cheeks. I just wish he'd stop . . . staring . . .  
  
Nothing to stare at. I was prettier when I was sixteen. Oh, what happened?  
  
So, I resorted to punching again. Hard, forceful, irate punching.  
  
Aaah, just like dessert. Only . . . more um, violent.  
  
That was when, without a word, Jesse just dematerialized.  
  
GOOD. He took the hint.  
  
. . . That bastard . . .  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
It was dawn when I woke up. Literally. The sun was only just rising, and everything was cold and dark. Oh, welcome to my world. The window was closed, I noticed with some strange satisfaction and at the same time, a conflicting aggravation. My whole room seemed to be drowned in a very mild fog. Weird . . . That didn't happen back in Massachusetts. But I remembered . . . it had happened all the time here . . .  
  
Jesse had been here since I'd fallen asleep, damn him. It freaked me out to think about it. I furiously banished it from my thoughts as I groggily began hauling all my stuff out the front. Yeah, this job? It was in Gilroy, about a two to three hour drive from Carmel-by-the-Sea. Gilroy, garlic central. Oh, I could just pee myself from the excitement, really.  
  
I suck.  
  
But yeah. Father Dom has warned me, that as our first job, we didn't know what to expect. We weren't sure how long it would take us to get rid of this ghost. Who did he think he was kidding, anyway? Father Dom was a total rookie at this thing. He didn't have any idea what he was doing. I knew he didn't. Otherwise, we'd appear at least an atom more professional, right? I mean, jeez . . .  
  
Looking okay for five o'clock in the morning, with blow-dried hair and donning a green mini pocket polo with a khaki cargo skirt and some Sketchers sneakers. I mean, it wasn't hideous, right? What? Cute and comfortable, that was what I was going for. Not Prima Donna-oh-look-at-me-I- am-so-obvoisly-competing-with-British-supermodels or anything. No way. This was so casual it was almost uncompetitive. Why would I compete? What was there to win, anyway? Paul? Ha, gimme a break.  
  
I stood on the five a.m. dewy grass, looking around me at the deadness of the street. My old home . . . my only true home. I was really back here, and it seemed that I'd brought the paralysis back to Carmel, from Massachusetts. Good going, Suze. Drug up another city with your depression, why don't you?  
  
I frowned, and almost tripped over my suitcases.  
  
What? YEAH, plural? Er, hello? Father Dom said he didn't know how long we'd like, be. Of COURSE I wasn't going to show up with a skimpy little handbag with a change of underwear and that's it. No, a girl needs options in the morning. I'd brought what I deemed to be a suitable clothing selection for, you know, ghost busting.  
  
So, so WHAT if my Jessica McClintock had accidentally made its way in there? Sue me.  
  
Oh, go the lawyer jokes. I'd finally have an opportunity to use them more.  
  
That was when a shiny black Jaguar convertible (with the top up) rolled up in front of my house and the horn honked. I was dragged out of my half- asleep state. I looked around, wondering if it was honking at someone else other than me. Oh yeah, Suze. The whole street is going to be standing in front of their houses at the crack of dawn waiting for lifts as well. Get a clue?  
  
Frowning, I hauled my luggage over to the trunk of the car. The windows were dark, so I couldn't see through them. Then I saw the number plate.  
  
PSLATER.  
  
Oh. Okay then. I'll wait for the bus, thanks.  
  
Then passenger window rolled down, and Dani was sitting there comfortably, looking like a covergirl. 'Oh, hello Sue,' she subjected me to a dazzling smile. I could just imagine her white teeth twinkling sarcastically at me, even.  
  
'Erm, it's Suze, actually,' I corrected her in an icy tone.  
  
She continued to smile. Paul, I could tell, was next to her.  
  
'Well? Are you going to stand there and shame the SIA before its first gig? Do get in the car, you can't embarrass us anymore, dear, wearing . . .well, that,' she nodded meaningfully towards my skirt. I blinked. 'Excuse me?'  
  
She gave me a shrug. 'Well, you know. Last season, sweets.'  
  
I gave her a shocked smile. 'Oh, I wasn't aware that England got bored of these already,' I said sweetly. Dani scowled.  
  
Leave it up to Miss United Kingdom to comment on my clothing. Hello? Yeah, this was a JOB. Not a fashion show. I sure as heck wasn't going to wear some fancy designer hot-off-the-runway fashion to kick butt in. I don't know how Dani mediates, but they with the way I do it? Things get messy.  
  
I picked up my suitcases as fast as I could without falling over, and started wobbling back up to the house. I was not- I repeat- NOT going to get in that car with Paul Slater and Dani Moore. NOT!  
  
'Suze?' Paul's voice came from the other side, 'Just get in the freaking car.'  
  
Well, so much for that.  
  
I threw my stuff in the trunk angrily, and got in the back seat. Jack was lying there, and had nodded off. When I hopped in, he lifted his head for a moment, blinked blearily, and then yawned and rested his head on my shoulder. Joy. Deadweight to my left, narcs to my front.  
  
'So, er, are we going to the mission first?' I asked.  
  
Dani didn't bother answering me, so Paul replied in a sardonic drawl, 'No Suze. We're going straight to Gilroy. The good Father stuck you with us. Such a terrible arrangement, no? Although, Jack doesn't seem to mind so much.'  
  
He was of course, referring to his little brother, who's head had rolled from my shoulder on to my breast. I shot daggers at him, and he chuckled, making my skin crawl horribly. Like ants were roaming my body, biting wherever possible.  
  
. . . Dick.  
  
The car zoomed down the street noisily, disturbing the silence to almost criminal degrees.  
  
Oh, maaaan. This was going to SUCK. Why the HELL was I stuck with Barbie and Ken? WHAT DID I DO? Why couldn't I have gone with Cee, or hitched a ride, or walked or something? Why PAUL?  
  
Father Dominic was going down after this . . .  
  
Jack was lightly snoring into my chest. This was positively mortifying, because . . . well, er, duh? The guy was THIRTEEN.  
  
This won't be on my record, right? Or, uh, his?  
  
Ewww . . .  
  
Well, the first five minutes were kind of painful. I was still getting over the fact that it was FIVE IN THE MORNING and I was actually still able to name the President, and that I was actually in a car with Paul Slater and wasn't screaming for mercy. You know? It was kind of rough. Then, I started getting bitterly mad at Father Dom for making me endure this car ride . . . he KNEW I hated Paul. That sneaky, conniving little –  
  
Er . . . Man of God.  
  
Aww, shut up.  
  
Maybe I should have been more specific when I told him to send a ride over. I thought that maybe he'd be smart and not quite as brain dead to figure out that meant for HIM to give me a ride and not Paul Slater. What? Did he want us all to be killed? I mean, yeah Paul was a decent driver. But at times, I feared for our lives . . . especially when he was driving with one arm draped over Dani and the other barely gripped on the steering wheel. You know, like one of those guys in cheesy sixties movies? Yeah, like that. It was enough to make a girl feel very, very uncomfortable.  
  
Speaking of which, it didn't help that Jack began drooling on my mini pocket polo shirt. And there was the fact that he was making it a little hard to breathe by resting his head on my chest. My hands, which were in my lap partly under Jack's sleeping form, were beginning to fall asleep too. You know, when your hands begin to feel very, very numb, and then it starts to sting and tingle after a bit? You get the idea.  
  
I managed to stay silent the whole car ride, though. I employed this strategy because I really wanted to keep under the radar. I thought maybe if the two lovebirds forgot I was there, then it would make the trip more tolerable.  
  
So I sat there as they chatted softly to each other about movies they saw together, places they've been together, and how the view at Paul's spiffy new lake house was divine. The movies they mentioned were ones I hadn't seen. The nice restaurants they went to were pretty pricey, too. The boyfriends I'd had in the past never took me to nice places like that. A trip to the movies for my previous boyfriends and I were sitting in a cramped apartment, making out on the couch while some boring movie played in the background. A fancy dinner would consist of take-out Chinese. My boyfriends never had fancy lake-houses with a glorious view. They just had rundown apartments with a nice view of the dumpster.  
  
Dani and Paul didn't even have to speak to me to make me feel instantly low. They were doing a fine job just talking amongst themselves about how great their lives together were. Which was, needless to say, way better than mine was.  
  
All of a sudden I grew very tired, not only because of the early rising, but because Dani and Paul's chitchat made me weary. What was the harm in a nap? Heaven knows Jack was comfy, so why couldn't I get in on some of that? I shifted in my seat a little, enough to get slightly comfortable without waking little Jackie-poo up. Then I rested my head on the window. If Paul weren't too busy chatting with Danielle, he probably would have told me not to lean or else it would leave a smudge on his window, but guess what? I didn't care.  
  
I closed my eyes, letting the rising sunshine wash over my face. Sleep overcame me in the same respect that memories of the painful past did. I welcomed it, hoping maybe to wake up from the nightmare.  
  
When I finally did wake up . . . let's just say I wasn't able to escape my nightmare as I had hoped. In fact, I was better off sleeping because my brutal reality was way scarier than anything my sub-conscious could come up with.  
  
First of all, my wake up call wasn't that great, due to the fact that a certain Paul Slater thought it might be funny to blast really loud rock music. I mean, hello? I still have eardrums! I jumped instantly, nearly knocking Jack out. And that was another thing . . . Jack was still asleep. He wasn't resting on my chest anymore, though, thank God. No, his curly head was now face down in my lap.  
  
Erm . . . okay . . .  
  
'Rise and shine!' Dani shrieked over the noise, cackling like a horrible witch. She obviously enjoyed the pain her boyfriend inflicted on my poor defenseless ears. I scowled at her, my heart pulsating loudly. Paul turned down the music, but I could still hear my ears ringing. It didn't seem to affect Jack, however.  
  
'Wow, that kid can sleep through anything,' Paul commented, throwing me a sympathetic glance. Though I appreciated his sympathy, it was not getting his drooling kid brother off of my lap.  
  
There was really no other way out, you know? Jack was on not only my hands, but my seatbelt too, so I couldn't undo it. I couldn't every well shake the kid awake either because, well, the whole hand thing. All I could do was try to wiggle and hope my movement would make him wake up.  
  
'Jack,' I said, once my wiggling plan had failed completely. 'Jack, honey, wake up. We're here. And . . . Auntie Suze wants the feeling back in her hands.'  
  
Dani began cackling again, and then I realized it. The bitchiest voice couple with the most annoying witch-psycho laugh? Well, that equals annoying bitch. Great, just what I needed.  
  
'Come on, kiddo. I know you are . . . comfy, but we wouldn't want Suze to get in trouble,' Paul teased with a terrible grin plastered on his face. 'And besides, she is way too old for you.'  
  
'Oh, Paul,' Dani howled, 'you're TERRIBLE!'  
  
The truth was, they were both terrible. I mean, they made it their duty to make fun of me during my most embarrassing moments. And hey, it wasn't MY fault Jack had to get up at the crack of dawn. I blamed it all on Adam and CeeCee, who conned us all into doing this in the first place.  
  
I let out a huge sigh. With that, Jack lifted his head and faced me, blinking his eyes a few times. I'm serious . . . loud rock music, Dani's cackling, and his teasing brother wouldn't wake him up, but a sigh let out in complete annoyance could. I swear . . . this all sucks so much.  
  
Jack, realizing where he was, quickly sat up. He turned bright red as he noticed the puddle of drool on my top . . . and a matching one on my skirt.  
  
Least he was considerate, and he coordinated me. Thanks, Jack. Thanks a bunch.  
  
'I'm sorry, Suze,' Jack apologized, his cheeks still tinged with pink, 'I was just really, really tired. I'm not much of a morning person.'  
  
Yeah, well at least I can maintain my own saliva.  
  
'It's okay Jack, me nei –'  
  
'Be glad you got some sleep, little bro,' Paul cut in. 'Today is going to be a long day.'  
  
'It can't be as bad as school,' Jack said as he wrinkled his nose. 'I'm so glad it's out already.'  
  
'Don't you have something planned for vacation?' I asked. You'd figure the kid would get some sort of break from spending a long year balancing homework, swim team, and taking care of his grandfather.  
  
'I guess I could have spent some time at the beach, but I'd much rather hang out with you guys and kick some ghostly –'  
  
'Jack,' I snapped, 'language, please?'  
  
'What?' Jack asked defensively. 'I was going to say butt.'  
  
Paul and Dani cracked up. What? WHAT was funny? I didn't see ANYTHING funny? I was teaching the kid to be civil. Trying to not be naughty, instead nice. And what do I get?  
  
Snorting from Pommie prima donnas.  
  
Thanks, Santa.  
  
Really.  
  
I shook my head and exited the car with as much dignity as possible and gathered my things from the trunk of the car. Maybe if my hand slipped a bit while getting out one particularly heavy bag, it might cause a dent. Ooopsie daisy.  
  
But no, I wasn't going to sink that low. That was Paul and Dani's domain.  
  
That was when I turned, and caught sight of the school for the first time.  
  
Holy crap.  
  
The faded wooden sign before me proclaimed, "FORTUNASCHWEIN BOARDING SCHOOL FOR BOYS 1892 – 1969." The sign stood in front of a towering black gate, with spears on each point that seemed to puncture the air above. Like on Mortal Combat Three when you've lost against an opponent, and you're falling onto those spikes? Well, we had some Grade A ones right here. Tall, sharp, and black. They looked like prison gates, without the barbed wire. They seemed to have a Machiavellian vibe to it that made me kind of blanch. As if, once I passed through those gates, I too would be a prisoner of this terrible place.  
  
And beyond the gates, oh . . .  
  
It was one of the largest building's I'd ever seen, not including the New York sky scrapers and stuff. It must have been 500 meters long. And at least four stories, maybe five, I couldn't tell. The bricks were incredibly old. They were a faded grey brown. Grass grew in between cracks. Windows that lined each floor were all rectangle, and were curtained. The whole dwelling was incredibly overwhelming. It was HUGE. And there was ONE ghost that we were supposed to find? Oh, PLEASE. Give me a BREAK?  
  
I had to admire the perfect darkness of the place. It seemed to disperse a subtle depression in the atmosphere, or something incredibly undisturbed and silent, as if one noise from one intruder would cause the whole building to collapse. The edifice reached an enormous height, and made my stomach kind of go icky.  
  
I swallowed hard. 'Whoa . . . '  
  
This was Fortunaschwein. A school. A haunted estate. My first job.  
  
A car door slammed, jerking me away from the sinister spell that the school was casting on me.  
  
I saw CeeCee and Adam get out of CeeCee's car, with all of their luggage, which was not as much as mine . . . but it still looked pretty heavy. They were both staring at the school in awe. Adam frowned, and murmured to CeeCee, 'Do they have electricity? Plumbing? Because you can't stop the forces of nature, Cee. And you can't force the forces of nature out into a hole in the ground outside, in an outhouse.'  
  
Good point.  
  
No toilets, no vacancies.  
  
But I judged from the final date on the sign, 1969, that there was plumbing. I mean, that wasn't too long ago. Thirty years, give or take? I was never great at Math. Ask Paul . . . bleh.  
  
But anyway . . .  
  
I wobbled over to them and asked, 'How was your ride?'  
  
'It was, um, pretty good,' CeeCee said as she looked down on the ground. What was eating her? Bad ride? I always remembered CeeCee being so energetic at school in the morning.  
  
'How about yours?' Adam asked, snickering about something. 'Did you have an accident?'  
  
'Well, surprisingly no,' I said, setting down my heavy luggage. 'You'd think Paul would be a reckless driver, but he really isn't –'  
  
Adam and CeeCee began to laugh really loudly. Adam was laughing so hard that he dropped all of his luggage and slapped his knees.  
  
Did I make a joke? I couldn't remember . . . had I made a joke?  
  
I looked down and realized what they were laughing at. The drool on my lap, along with my stupidity.  
  
Oh. That. Thaaaaaanks, Jack.  
  
'Shut up!' I scoffed, turning away in embarrassment. Adam and CeeCee were still laughing at me. Father Dominic waved to me, not seeing the puddle on my skirt, thankfully. He then returned to writing something on his clipboard.  
  
That was when a grating sound stopped us all in our tracks.  
  
'Are you lot the SIA?' a strange voice said. I turned around and faced this really tall, intimidating man who was balding. He was old. The little grey hair he had left was thin and dull, but was combed over his bald spot. I HATE it when old guys do that. Like, they don't have bald spots. It looked SO stupid. I mean, I'm serious. Who did he think he was kidding? He looked like a guy who'd just been caught on Candid Camera, and he wasn't happy about it. Mystery man had what I would call crazy eyes . . . eyes that never really focused on one spot, and he never made eye contact. He looked very bitter about something . . . a frown seemed forever plastered on his face.  
  
'Why, yes,' Father D looked up from his clipboard, 'we are. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Father Dominic.'  
  
The man shook Father Dom's hand in his own warily. We all went around, introducing ourselves and shaking his hand. I got major chills when I shook his hand. His grip was overpowering and his hand was icy cold. It was very, very intimidating.  
  
'I see,' the man said, looking a bit disappointed. 'I am Mr. Richard Head.'  
  
Adam snorted accidentally, causing Mr. Head to ask, 'What are you laughing at?'  
  
Father Dominic shot Adam a warning glance and continued, 'It is nice to meet you, Mr. Head.'  
  
'Can we call you Dick?' Adam asked innocently. I swear, an infectious giggle almost exploded out of me then. Oh my GOD, what a name?! Mr. Dick Head. Jeez . . . no wonder he was already bald . . . CeeCee stepped on Adam's foot and Adam winced in pain.  
  
Paul narrowed his eyes at Adam and stepped up professionally. 'All right, Mr. Head, what's the problem? What sort of paranormal activity have you experienced?'  
  
Dani looked at Paul warmly, smiling at him and grabbing his arm. Yeah, hello? Business now. You can go all PDA on him AFTER the customer is done. Thanks . . .  
  
'Well,' Mr. Head said, quite rudely, 'I've told the priest that there's something in that school. You've got to get rid of it. I guess you've heard about my wife . . . it was all in the news, you know.'  
  
Was it just me, or did this guy sound a little proud?  
  
Paul stood up taller. 'Yes, sir, we have. Have you yourself seen anything, perhaps?'  
  
'Once,' Mr. Head replied grimly, 'long ago. That is all.'  
  
And just like that, the subject was dropped.  
  
'Just get rid of them,' he said flatly, 'and then you'll be paid.'  
  
The way he had said that . . . it made a patch of Goosebumps crawl on my skin. Just get rid of them . . . like we were supposed to snap and POOF! They'd be gone. But he didn't know that that was not how it worked. It wasn't how it worked at all.  
  
'Would you kindly show us which room your wife was trapped in the other day?' Father Dom asked, choosing his words very carefully.  
  
Mr. Head looked at him like he was crazy or something. 'I'm not going in there. Can't you just get them out of there?'  
  
'We will try everything in our power to help them on their way, but it would be easier if perhaps you showed us –'  
  
'No,' Mr. Head stomped his foot angrily. 'There is no need to help them on their way. Just . . . get them out of there.'  
  
Everyone stared at Mr. Head. His voice was soft, but commanding. He didn't need to raise his voice at all to get his point across to us. Another thing about him . . . he didn't seem to care about the ghost's emotional ties to the place. He just wanted it out now . . . selfish jerk . . .  
  
Oh right, it was a school, wasn't it? My bad.  
  
Mr. Head brushed himself off, regaining his composure. 'I believe that it would be best to take drastic action with . . . whatever you do. What is it you do? You say you deal with the dead . . . how so?'  
  
Paul looked to me. I couldn't say anything, really. This guy gave me the creeps. Then he took the reigns seeing that I couldn't, saying, 'It is hard to understand, sir, but we can see, hear, speak to, and touch the dead. As in, ghosts. Usually the likes of Father Dominic and Dani can try to coax the ghosts into finding the reason they are still stranded on Earth. Susannah and I...we're a different story...'  
  
I couldn't help but glare at Paul. First of all, he said the dreaded pronoun "we". And then there was that whole "Susannah and I" thing. It chilled me to the bone to be included in the same sentence with him. It was completely gruesome.  
  
'See them?'  
  
Paul looked ultra-annoyed. I didn't blame him because, well, I don't know how many ghosts I had to explain that to almost daily. Father Dom saw Paul's vice, and decided to take over. 'Yes, Mr. Head, we can see them. It is a highly unusual trait, but it proves to be helpful when – '  
  
Mr. Head turned his attention towards me. 'You and him,' he said, motioning to Paul lazily, 'why are you two different?'  
  
I froze. Here I was, about to admit to someone what, exactly I did. He was here to judge me based on it too. I felt my eyes widen and my heart race. All of a sudden, I didn't want to do this anymore. I just wanted to go home, back to my punching bag.  
  
Punch . . . punch . . .  
  
'We,' I swallowed, 'have an added skill. Paul and I – ' I cringed having to use that phrase – 'have the ability to travel freely around the, erm, spirit realm.'  
  
'What good'll that do?' he asked grumpily, crossing his arms. I looked nervously to Paul, my confidence completely drained just as Mr. Head spoke. There was just something about this man. He had a sort of aura about him . . . an aura of creepiness if you will. I completely freaked.  
  
'We only use that as a last resort,' Paul frowned. Obviously he had had a chat with Father D earlier, and the good father set him straight. No exorcisms, no visits to Shadowland, none of that. 'Of course, there are other sensory powers that we possess that could prove useful.'  
  
. . . Excuse me?  
  
Paul shot a meaningful glance in my direction. For a moment I could have sworn I saw something in his expression that said "See, Suze? We have powers. Too bad you never took the initiative to learn them. But now I have you right where I want you . . . you must face the facts and learn now . . . MUAHAHAH".  
  
But it left a second later when Mr. Head said, 'Very well, then. Have a nice time. Call me when they're gone.'  
  
Seriously . . . that's all he said. Have a nice time and call me when they're gone. Number one, it was going to be near impossible to have a nice time when confronted by two dreadful characters from my past and one of their awful girlfriends. Another thing . . . Mr. Dick Head seemed only concerned with himself. He didn't care, really, how we got rid of the ghost . . . just as long as we did.  
  
As he left, I couldn't help having the feeling that there was something that Mr. Head was hiding. Something he knew about the ghost that we, the SIA, didn't. I narrowed my eyes at him as he jumped into his antiquated Cadillac . . . something that may have been something in the past, but was now a piece of junk.  
  
Like me.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
After that most enlightening chat with our new, and positively enchanting employer, I wandered back over to the gate again, placing my hands on the cold metal. Around me, the ground was merely dirt and rock and dead grass. Inside, it seemed so much deader. The trees were all black and sharp- looking with no leaves yielding from them. The grass was brown, and the long path that lead down to the school seemed to be composed completely of pebbles. Well, didn't want to have a Jimmy Choo crisis on THAT.  
  
Native flowers that were trying desperately to grow were being strangled by the weeds that seemed intent on bringing them down. It was kind of depressing. The whole school was depressing. It was like, even the clouds above it were that bit grayer. The country air had been rich and beautiful as I'd been sitting in Paul's car, but now, there was like a pungent stench in the air. It wasn't immediately disgusting, just unpleasant and awkward. I wrinkled my nose a little, as the metal beneath my hands began to heat up a little from my body warmth. There were faint cobwebs in between the pikes of the towering fence. As if it hadn't been opened in a long time – or recently had, but only for a while. I observed how some of the webs were broken and were just clinging there, like fine grey silk.  
  
I was pleased to note that the manufacturers of those webs were completely hidden. Ha, seeing is believing. Seeing is fearing, too. So yeah. No arachnids, no heebie-jeebies.  
  
I could hear Paul and Dani and CeeCee and Adam and Father Dominic talking loudly behind me, discussing plans and methods of attack. I was supposed to be listening. I was supposed to be suggesting things. But I wasn't. I was standing in front of the gate, as if willing it to open. There was like a force that was drawing me to the school. It goosed my goosebumps and uneased my queasiness. I felt like a monstrosity that was about to enter a forbidden territory, unlawfully. I didn't know why. It was as if there was something saying, 'don't come here, you are not welcome,' but at the same time, a darker, more persuasive voice yearned, 'enter . . . we need you . . . '  
  
I didn't know which one to listen to.  
  
It was then when something warm made contact with my hand, and I flinched in surprise.  
  
'Sorry,' Jack mumbled. 'I'm sorry about your skirt. Sorry, I didn't mean to go all spitty, but I was asleep and Paul said that my head was on your boobs too and I'm sorry for that too and I wasn't being disgusting, I really wasn't – '  
  
I stopped him there, by rolling my eyes. 'Er, hello? I am well aware that you were out to the world. It's no big, okay? Saliva isn't permanent. Or well, it better not or you're death is gonna be permanent.'  
  
He gave me a grateful grin. 'Okay, cool.'  
  
And then he just stood there, gazing at the school too.  
  
'Whoa,' he said suddenly. I gave him a ". . . .go on?" look, and he shrugged. 'It just looks so . . . I dunno. Unhaunted. Like, there's nothing there. It looks like it's been empty for years.'  
  
'It has,' I said. 'Because the ghost that's in there? It can't count as an occupant. Ghosts aren't really there. They are to us, but not to the rest of the world.'  
  
'It is nice to feel so wanted,' a Spanish lilt suddenly hissed in my ears.  
  
I spun around, and Jesse was standing right behind me, looking down at me.  
  
'Go away,' was my first line, but Jack totally grabbed Jesse around the torso and gave him a hug. Aww, affectionate little guy . . . he was so –  
  
HUGGING JESSE, AGH! EW! GROSS! SOMEONE GET HIM OFF!  
  
'Jack, come on, let him have some breath,' I said nastily, knowing perfectly well of his lack of necessity for our oxygen.  
  
Jesse gave me a stony look. 'So, Susannah,' he said in an indifferent voice. One that I was aware I'd driven him to. 'Are you ready for this, then?'  
  
I was about to answer something which wouldn't be considered diplomatic, in polite society when Paul practically shoved me out the way – subtly, because remember ladies, he's a lawyer – and rattled a large key in the lock on the gate. The bulky chain holding the gate closed slunk off like a snake trying to make it to the ground. It landed in a cumbersome black, rusty pile on the pebbly ground. Paul kicked it out of the way. He read the sign with tedium. 'Fortunaschwein. Must have been a nice place in its day, no? Makes you wonder what really happened.'  
  
I gave him a scornful look. 'Probably just trained boys how to be butt monkeys is all.' Everyone started at me curiously. 'Oh . . . you meant the school in general, didn't you?' Paul raised his eyebrows, his hand still holding the key. Dani slithered over, and leant against Paul, her bodice looking particularly farfetched this morning in a very busy top by some French designer I couldn't even pronounce. May I say the top looked ridiculous on her? The colours were totally gross and the material was too thin and clingy to be taken seriously. Hello? My Starbucks apron had better fabric.  
  
Needless to say, Paul ignored me and wrapped his arm around Dani, kissing her gently on the top of her head. Dani fluttered her overdone eyelashes at him, her hazel irises looking buggy and wintry. 'Okay, Dani?'  
  
'Ready, Paulie,' she purred back, rubbing her fist along his chest. I felt my already nauseous stomach protest a wave of sick, but I managed to hold down my vomit better than Jack had held his own salivary excretion. 'Oh, bollocks, look at this place? It's not dirty inside, is it Paul?' she asked anxiously with a very unattractive wrinkle along her nose. He pecked her on her cosmetically blushed cheek.  
  
I started coldly at the two of them, before I just lost my patience, groaned at them in aggravation, and stomped over to Father Dominic.  
  
'I don't know why I'm here,' I informed him.  
  
He gave me a weary expression. 'Susannah, not this again . . . please. We must forget about our less than fortunate circumstances, and look ahead to the task at hand. This ghost inhabiting this building is not friendly.'  
  
'Not friendly at all,' I said softly, glaring sideways at Paul and Dani as they were trying to have a kissing competition while pushing the gate open.  
  
I mean, one minute Paul tries to be Mr. Professional in dealing with the Dick Head, taking charge as our ringleader. Paul made himself the obvious alpha-male in our pack. But in a matter of seconds he dropped his business- like-manner in exchange for making kissy-faces at his plastic Barbie doll.  
  
Typical . . .  
  
Jack gave me a reproving look, and I cut it out. I mean, yeah, he was a drooler. I wasn't going to give his big brother evils in front of him. Oh, no. I'd wait until his back was completely turned, till I glared daggers at Paul.  
  
Then, Jesse materialized right next to Father Dominic. I stumbled back a little. What? He just popped up everywhere. Again, like before . . . I was getting used to it again, okay? God, not that I WANTED to get used to it. Are you kidding me? I wanted him gone. I didn't want Jesse here. I just . . . I just wanted to do this job in peace.  
  
But something told me I wasn't going to get what I wanted.  
  
I bit my lip anxiously, and felt depressed. That was, of course, when my cell phone in my backpack started shrieking out its polyphonic rhythm, among all of the country noises. I received a jolt as it cut my thoughts, and slung my bag down, digging my hand in and grabbing the little vibrating phone. Everyone stared at me.  
  
'Excuse me . . . ' I blushed, and I answered it with a hurried, 'yeah?'  
  
'Suze, it's me . . . Cole.'  
  
I went very pale as CeeCee and Adam eyed me curiously. Slinking to opposite Paul's car, I mumbled into the receiver, 'What do you want?'  
  
My skin crept. Cole . . . I'd forgotten about him.  
  
He ignored my question. 'It's so great to hear your voice again, Suze,' he said nostalgically. I just breathed for a moment, not knowing how to respond. I could already feel my heart pumping harder. This guy . . . he scared me. Yeah, Susannah Simon, punk assed bitch of Carmel-by-the-Sea, now a scared, abused girlfriend.  
  
Irony. That's what it was. Tragic irony, at it's peak.  
  
'Um . . . yeah, okay . . . ' I spluttered, 'I'm kind of busy at the –'  
  
'Where have you been, Suze? I've missed you.'  
  
I didn't answer. My head felt light with dread.  
  
'Did you get my flowers, Suze?' he wanted to know. His voice sounded deep and masculine and enigmatic over the bad reception of the cell phone, like a prank caller. It was freaky.  
  
'Um, yeah,' I said nervously. Then, biting back my apprehension, I snapped. 'You can have them back if you want. Oh wait. The garbage disposal's already been. My bad.'  
  
' . . . You weren't at home, you weren't at work, and your car's still at the apartment . . . ' he continued on, not listening to me. His voice was getting louder. More dangerous. As if, if I pushed him, I'd truly regret it. Oh, didn't I know it? I still have the bruises. 'Tell me where you're been. Now.'  
  
I lost my confidence again. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This guy is not the best accessory for someone trying to build up their self esteem. 'I've just been . . . away.' Then I added, 'please don't call me again.'  
  
There was an angry silence. Then he answered, 'No.'  
  
'I'm serious, Cole,' I warned him. 'I really am.'  
  
There was another pause. My heart kind of skipped a beat, and I was holding the phone very hand to my ear, so my knuckles were strained. 'So am I,' he breathed. 'You'd better find a way back home, you here? Or else I'll find you and make you. You're not that hard to track, Suze.'  
  
A violent chill swept through me. Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .  
  
'S-stay away from me,' I stammered. 'Cole, I m-mean it.'  
  
There was a very soft chuckle in response. And then he hung up.  
  
I held the cell to my ear still, kind of frozen on the spot. I stared ahead in horror. Not blinking much, either. Oh no, what had I just done? What did that mean? What was he going to –  
  
'Who was that?' a certain Spanish voice wanted to know from behind me.  
  
My nostrils flared, and I quickly stuffed the cell into my purse, swallowing and licking my dry lips. 'Um, no one, just . . . no one,' I mumbled kind of incoherently.  
  
'Susannah...is there something I should know? You told whoever it was to stay away from you. Have they harmed you?' he enquired, coming to stand in front of me. His spectral glow very dully reflected on the metal clasp on my bag. He gazed down at me with what might have been concern. I blinked at him. I must have looked like I was caught in headlights or something. Then I quickly looked away.  
  
'I'm perfectly fine, Jesse. This is none of your business,' I said in clipped tones, and I walked back to everyone else, breathing a little faster than usual. Jesse marched behind me. He then wandered over to Jack, and put his hands on his shoulders. It looked so strange . . . like Jesse was some kind of Yoda to Jack's Luke Skywalker. It weirded me out, to think that they were that close. They looked really chummy. Like best friends.  
  
What Jesse and I used to be, before we fell in love.  
  
Baaaah . . . don't go there.  
  
Paul, who'd been teasing Dani about something – she was having a fit of pathetic giggles – give me an aloof glance. 'Who rang?'  
  
I stopped, and shrugged. 'Er . . . someone from Massachusetts . . . no one.' I cast an icy eye to Dani, and then looked back towards the foreboding school. Fortunaschwein. It sounded so . . . grand. So ancient, and majestic. Yet kind of eerie, like it proclaimed an omen of death or something.  
  
Just my luck.  
  
But Paul wasn't finished, the butthead. 'Wasn't your boyfriend, was it?' he asked with a wise guy grin. I looked to the ground very quickly. 'I don't have one,' I snapped. 'I don't know what you're . . . ' I trailed off, as my voice had been diminishing in volume anyway. I settled for shaking my head.  
  
"You're not that hard to track . . . "He'd said that. Did that mean he'd . . . no. He wouldn't do that . . . why would he do that?  
  
'Susannah, what is going on?' Jesse asked again. He was beside me, with Jack. I didn't realize it. He sounded kind of angry. He had NO RIGHT to be angry. He was so mysterious all the time, well, now I had a secret that I wasn't telling him. So, blah!  
  
Paul was also scrutinizing me skeptically. 'Whatever, Simon,' he shrugged. The gate stood open. It felt like we were opening the gateway to the Netherworld or something. Not so hot. Hey, what? You try opening a big, scary, pointy gate like that and see how fuzzy YOU feel, okay?  
  
I really didn't want to go in there . . . into the boundaries of this possessed school. It's just not something I preferred to do, you know? But when Adam shoved me from behind past the gate – the point of no return – I knew that I wasn't going back.  
  
Fortunaschwein ex-Boarding School for Boys? Suze Simon inda house.  
  
Or school.  
  
Or, um, abandoned mansion – hey, whatever, OKAY?  
  
I was going for ATTITUDE, gimme a break!  
  
Oooh, this wasn't going to be good. I could feel it in my ice-cold fingertips, and in my frozen blood that ran beneath my now pale skin . . .  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
A/N: Oooh. There we go. She's there, in this building. This SIA is roaring into life. Let's see where it goes from here . . . how will Suze deal? With Jesse? With Paul and Dani?  
  
. . . With the ghost that haunts this place?  
  
Oooh.  
  
Spooky.  
  
Teehee, reviewable? Remember, LONG REVIEWS, okay? Really long and long winded, because we love 'em long.  
  
Now let as all stare at Lolly and Hayley with raised eyebrows . . . yeah, that's it . . .  
  
Love Lolly and Hayley. 


	7. Fortunaschwein

WOW. Some of those reviews were WHOPPAS! Please, do that again! Special thanks to Bianca and Manda for making Lolly's eyes explode with bliss. Wow . . . they were BOTH 4kb!  
  
Esodes said: "I really think that Suze is warming up to Dani. I think that Paul and Dani work great together. Really, I do!"  
  
Lolly said: WHAT ARE YOU SMOKING, DAMN IT????  
  
Hayley said: On what the planet? Hey duuuude, that kinda rhymes . . . erm, not really. Well, we'll see how well Suze is warming up to Dani this chapter. Nah, acknowledgments to Esodes, teehee, for the "hammer" thing . . .  
  
bunnygirl1 – your fanfiction did NOT need a . . . scene! To quote a review you once got, "some things are best left to the imagination." And that was the best time to NOT DO A . . . SCENE. Don't stress about the lack- of-a . . . scene. Your story is the epitome of luminous perfection. And that is that.  
  
tinkerbaby466 – I didn't come up with it. There's a font that I downloaded onto my computer, called Fortunaschwein. It sounded cool. It was either that or Baskerville. Teehee . . . I didn't even BOTHER suggesting that. It's too plain.  
  
shawni – good point. We forgot about a scene there. Our bad. We'll add it in later, lol.  
  
Sammy – We will tell you NOTHING. We PLEAD THE FIFTH.  
  
Alda Rethe – LOLLY LOVES YOUR STORY. And yes, it has been said. Hayley and Lolly have no lives. Teehee. Well, minimal. But that's why it takes so long for us to update, sometimes. TEXAS AND AUSTRALIA ARE VERY FAR AWAY.  
  
Laaaa . . . shutting up now. I like this chapter, it's kind of funny at some places, teehee . . . Lolly was high when she wrote her bits. God bless morphine. And Hayley had a headache and her muscles ache from Band Camp. BAND NERDS FOREVER!!  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Our group, the newly formed SIA, was shuffling professionally down the long path that lead to the school. As I'd observed before, the grass was completely and utterly dead. It was no different from this side of the fence, except perhaps, even more depressing. God, was there ANYTHING around here that wasn't dead?  
  
I mean, besides the SIA.  
  
Well, majority.  
  
YES JESSE I AM LOOKING AT YOU.  
  
Aren't I a sweetie? Oh, laaa.  
  
I shot him a sideways look. He was still glowing faintly, one of his large hands clamped down on Jack's shoulder. Almost like a father figure. Which Jack was probably lacking, at the moment, living with his delirious Pops at the moment. But . . . it made me kind of angry to think that Jesse thought he could be that father figure. That he could just move in on the kid. I mean, I do not like to consider Jack as property, but he was my turf. I was the one who'd thought him how to SWIM, right? I'd befriended him first, I'd made him unafraid, didn't that mean anything to him anymore? And what business did Jesse have, just going all paternal all of a sudden, and being the mediator guru? That was very rude of him. Jesse wasn't even a mediator!  
  
I mean, not that I WANTED Jack to be struggling as a growing mediator, but . . . did it have to be Jesse? Did ANYTHING have to be Jesse? Did it HAVE to be him that had haunted my room? Did it HAVE to be him that I first fell in love with? Did he HAVE to be here now, making me remember all of these terrible things? Making me think badly of him? I mean, as much as I loved to hate him, I didn't want to just diss him in my mind, without shouting it out and giving him some knowledge of why I thought he was such a butthead.  
  
But anyway. Courtesy of my furtive sideways looking, I noticed that Jesse was staring up at one of the hundreds of windows. They were all looming closer as we were walking. Every bobbing step drew them nearer. The windows, I mean. Well, that and the, er, rest of the school. My own gaze was magnetically drawn to the many windows, and with comprehension that made my stomach tense, I saw one of the curtains twitch very obviously.  
  
Oh, neat.  
  
'We are being watched,' Jesse said very quietly, stopping and making Jack stop also. You know, that whole hand-still-on-shoulder-muah-there-is-no- escape-fool thing still happening there.  
  
Paul halted, and turned to glare at Jesse. Well, it wasn't a nice look. No inspirational, warm fuzzy feelings there. It was more like die-bitch-die.  
  
Ha. That'd be the day. Paul calling Jesse a bitch.  
  
Oh, I'm odd.  
  
'I said,' Jesse repeated calmly, 'We are being watched. By whom, I am not certain. One could only assume it is this ghost whom we have been called to expel. I just witnessed movement of the curtains in that window on the fourth floor.'  
  
Jack wrinkled his nose up at Jesse. 'You talk weird,' he stated.  
  
Jesse stared down at Jack in confusion.  
  
Paul was still looking at Jesse like he was scum. Which he was. But then, so was Paul, so he couldn't talk. Or, um, look. So, much as I hated it, I had to back Jesse up.  
  
'Yeah,' I shrugged. 'I saw it too. And yeah, Jesse does talk weird.'  
  
Jesse scowled at me, and I laughed in a kind of nasty way. I instantly felt kind of bad, but I stood my ground. Paul considered me with a lazy, lingering gaze, and then rotated back to the front, marching forward and going all Fearless Leader, proclaiming himself leader of the pack. He jogged – in a business suit still but yeah – up to the very front door of the school, and pulled out the jangling keys once more. Beside me, I heard Dani let out a sigh of admiration. 'Isn't he brave?' she whispered to Adam wistfully. He grinned down at her. 'Brave? Ha, he a mockery of brave! I am the brave, strong one here, ma'am. Do not let the flab fool you. It is merely, er, relaxed muscle.'  
  
Jack chuckled, and Jesse just stared at him.  
  
'Odd,' he finally concluded, after thinking about it for a few moments. 'Susannah, you have odd friends.'  
  
'Birds of a feather,' I said simply, still walking to where Paul was waiting for us, looking incredibly smug and superior, 'Aren't you glad you escaped the friendship circle in time?'  
  
A had a funny expression on his face. Like what I was saying was really bothering. I cared? Oooh, heavens no. Or hell no. Or whatever's in between. I don't think there's a happy medium between heaven and hell. I am a strong believer in heaven (or hell) on earth. We create our final destination here. I think when ghosts move on, they just go. I really do. Well, now, anyway. When I was sixteen, and was blissfully wondering what would happen if I died and came back as a ghost and moved on with Jesse, I believed that there would be somewhere that we'd go to after death where we'd live in eternal happiness and would receive our just rewards for all the good we'd done.  
  
Now I know that heaven and hell lies where we stand. Good and evil lies in people. We can choose to do good, or bad. Oh, wonders of free will. We make our paradises and our purgatories. It is us, and our decisions, actions and words, that define who we are and how our lives will be. Good and evil exists strongly on earth. So I believe that earth is the only plane of existence, besides from the Shadowland. Beyond that . . . there is no existence to me.  
  
Oh, happy days, Suze. Really.  
  
Paul, after searching through the many keys, found the correct one and unlocked the door. He left it unlocked for a moment, turning around to lean on the door all casually. Well, as casual as one could be in a business suit. His gaze fell on me, and he grinned, asking, 'Would you do the honors, or shall I?'  
  
I looked up at the large, looming building ahead of me. The school, I had to admit, was magnificent. Even though it was a little old, it was still an undeniably beautiful place. There was a sort of darkness that I could sense strongly . . . like an aura surrounding the place. Even though it was early morning outside, I felt as if the inside would stay forever night.  
  
I really didn't know if I wanted to go in there yet. I mean, who knew what lay behind that door? That ghost . . . he was probably waiting for us. I saw the curtain flinch earlier. He knew we were there. I'm sure he already had our welcoming party planned. And no, I don't mean a nice party with streamers and a banner that reads "Welcome to Fortunaschwein Ex- Boarding School". Yeah, the OTHER kind. I'm pretty sure this ghost knew what hazing was, considering that this was an all boys high school. Uh oh . . .  
  
But, of course, I didn't want to show Paul my fear. He'd never let it go if I chickened out. But I didn't want to go in there alone. So I sought the only help I could bear to get at a moment such as that.  
  
'Come on, Jack. Let's go.'  
  
Jack looked at me for a moment like I had grown a second head or something. 'Go where?' he asked me, furrowing his eyebrows.  
  
'In there,' I replied simply, motioning to the large entrance to the school. Jack's face suddenly changed from confusion to utter fear. His blue eyes widened as he inhaled a short breath.  
  
'What? You're not scared, are you?' I teased him as I patted him on the shoulder. 'Of course not,' he gulped in reply.  
  
I knew Jack was afraid. I remembered that exact expression of fear from when he first told me he could see ghosts. Little frivolous things like going outside or even swimming used to scare him. But that summer I helped him overcome his fears. Everyone including my boss, Jack's parents, and even Paul thought that I was some sort of miracle worker. It was my duty again to show Jack that there was nothing to be afraid of.  
  
I put my hand on his other shoulder supportively, and squeezed it lightly. 'Come on,' I told him as I gave him a quick wink. Then I added, 'Payback for the saliva attack.' He blushed a bit, but then began to follow me to the front door.  
  
I felt a little dizzy as we took the long walk up the path leading to the front door. I knew that once we reached the front door, there was absolutely no turning back. Not under Paul Slater's watch.  
  
Jack stopped for a moment and turned around to look at Jesse, who decided not to follow us. 'You coming, Jesse?' Jack asked him nervously, standing with a kind of collapsed anxiety.  
  
Jesse smiled at Jack warmly and replied, 'I will watch you go inside and I will meet you in there. Is that all right with you?'  
  
I wanted to answer that for Jack, but he grinned. 'Sure.'  
  
How about, not so sure? How about, NO?  
  
How about, shut up Suze?  
  
That was when a very loud whistling sound swooped through the air, blowing up my eardrums with incredible decibels. I covered my ears, and glared around.  
  
'Did you hear that?!' Jack gasped, his face alive with fretful exhilaration.  
  
'Naw, my ear just got chilly,' I said sarcastically. 'Of course I heard it.'  
  
Everyone murmured in agreement. CeeCee shivered as Jesse accidentally stepped through her.  
  
'What was it?' whispered Adam, looking around vigilantly.  
  
I shrugged. 'Either wind, or, well, the ghost.'  
  
Adam's eyes went wide. 'What the hell? Ghosts can scream that high? Oh, I want a refund. I want out,' he snapped. 'It's like listening to Kelly Prescott when someone says her skirt is dorky. Oh, pandemonium ensues there.'  
  
No one really cared all that much.  
  
Jack gave me a fearful, wobbly grin. I threw a fake smile back at him in encouragement, but not feeling it. God, did I ever feel like smiling lately?  
  
This was the pits.  
  
I saw Paul giving me a strange look. 'What?' I snapped.  
  
'Open the door already,' he groaned impatiently.  
  
I blinked, as Dani – tugging on his arm with a dirty look on her face, whinnied, 'Yes, Sue. Open the sodding door.'  
  
Suze. SUZE you fool!!!  
  
And with that, I shoved the door open. An almighty creek plagued all of our ears. It sounded like Dopey trying to sing, if you asked me to pin point it. The huge wooden door swung open slowly, as I pushed it with my shoulder. It took effort, may I say? And it wasn't like anyone else was offering to lend a hand. Oh, how sweet that was not. My foot was kind of sliding on the pavement as I shoved at the door. There wasn't enough friction between the ground and my shoe. This door, damned thing, it was one of those ones that tried to swing back at you. Heaven only knows why, but yeah. After a good ten seconds, I managed to force it right open. Then I shoved the provided brick against it to prevent it from slamming back. I took a few steps back and leaned against one of the pillars in the entranceway, taking a small rest.  
  
Of course, my efforts were wasted when Paul pushed his way through the door that I opened. A few steps in, he stopped and breathed it all in, as if it were his claim. CeeCee and Adam crowded in the doorway, trying to see what was inside without taking a step in.  
  
'Whoa,' I heard the echo of Paul's voice from the outside. I wondered what he was whoa-ing about. But walking into the house second didn't seem a role fit for me. I was surprised Dani the leech didn't go in there with him. Instead, she stood to the side like a wallflower at a dance.  
  
Adam and CeeCee still loitered by the door, peeking in. It was obvious that it was hard for them to see inside because it was dark in there compared to the bright morning sunshine outside. Jack found his way back to me and gave me a questioning glance.  
  
Jack wasn't going to go in the place if I didn't. Neither was anyone else for that matter.  
  
So I let curiosity get the best of me. I pushed past CeeCee and Adam and slipped through the dark and narrow entrance. I stood a little behind Paul, trying to see over his broad shoulders. Damn . . . I should have worn platforms.  
  
'What?' I asked Paul. He didn't reply. Instead, he stepped forward some, and then turned back to me, a wild smirk playing on his lips. I didn't know what he was smirking about until I looked away from him and actually looked at the room. Just one look forced a mighty, 'Wow' from me.  
  
The shadowy, dome-shaped entrance was a little dusty and dark, but it was majorly classy. The huge room was filled with dark wood, stained glass windows, and deep crimson paint. The whole room was like a void. It was practically empty, and it was dark and echoing. In the middle of domed room hung a large, crystal chandelier. Paul switched on the dusty light switch and it began to twinkle, the light playing on the crystal magnificently.  
  
'Oh my God . . . it's beautiful,' I breathed. I could hear my words echoing throughout the room. It was so big that it nearly engulfed Paul and I as we stood there, admiring its grandiose.  
  
'Cool!' Jack exclaimed as he squeezed himself inside. He scuttled over to one of the walls, looking up with a bright smile on his face. 'Suze! Look at the paintings. Aren't they awesome?'  
  
In a daze I stepped closer to one of the paintings. I brushed off some of the dust that formed in a thin layer over it. It was of a young man of about thirty or so, sitting with his arm gently rested on a table. He had a head full of golden blonde hair. I couldn't believe how someone so young could appear so old though. There was no gleam in his eyes or anything. I thought the man in the picture would have been more attractive if he at least smiled. But I guess it would have been a pain to smile for hours while some guy painted your portrait.  
  
'They're like the ones you and me saw at that boring historical place back when I was seven, you know?' Jack noticed, cocking his head to the side as he admired a piece that was painted of a horse. 'You know, the one of that pretty lady and the other one of Jesse when you went to give that historian dude those letters from that Hector guy.'  
  
I went a bit rigid for a moment. I pretended to be busy looking at the painting. Maybe I wasn't the only one with an overactive memory. Well, okay, maybe he had forgotten the "pretty lady's" name and he also forgot that Jesse's REAL name was Hector. Or maybe Jesse never told him. Well, that's pretty stupid. Why would he do such a thing?  
  
To keep him from getting in his business? So Jack won't find out what happened to him and help him move on? Or did he just not want there to be a repeat of what happened last time?  
  
Well, it could be a lot worse. I mean, at least Jesse didn't know about the –  
  
'What letters, Susannah?' I heard Jesse ask me. Obviously he had materialized upon hearing his name or something.  
  
Damn.  
  
I turned around slowly to face Jesse. I noticed that Paul was just as interested in hearing my answer as Jesse was. Dani, who had come in with Adam and CeeCee, was tugging at Paul's arm so they could go make-out – er, I mean – check out the paintings together. But he wasn't budging. He was awaiting my reply.  
  
'You had, um, some mail that came a bit late,' I explained, swallowing hard. This was something I tried to hide from Jesse for a long time. As his former roommate, it thought it wasn't proper of me to be checking out his mail. Even if it was, say, a hundred and fifty years late. But then again, WHO CARES?  
  
'Why do I feel bad about this?' I asked myself. 'So I read your letters? I couldn't NOT read them. I was trying to find out exactly what happened to you ages ago because you sure as hell weren't dropping any hints. And yeah, I took them to the Historical Society place because that Clive guy would have appreciated them more than me. OR you even. First of all, Maria was totally boring, and secondly . . . MARIA DE SILVA CANNOT SPELL FOR SHIT.'  
  
'Susannah!' Father Dom whipped out his chiding tone quickly. 'Do not use that language here, please.'  
  
Who was Father D to tell ME what language to use, Father-I-can-curse-my- little-head-off-at-the-computer? But I was too busy looking away from Jesse in embarrassment to jump on the old priest's case for it. I wasn't ashamed of the whole cursing thing . . . it was just the way Paul and Jesse were looking at me. It was hard to tell what they were thinking, but I think it went along the lines of, "Back away slowly from the head case and no one will get hurt."  
  
To confirm my thoughts, Jesse lifted his scarred eyebrow and then did something shocking. He laughed at me.  
  
Which, needless to say, was so NOT funny. I mean, yeah I tend to babble when I get nervous and stuff, but it wasn't something to laugh about. And the whole Maria comment? Yeah, did you hear him denying it? I think not. I was just speaking the truth. Totally not funny. I blinked at him.  
  
CeeCee even managed a giggle. I couldn't for the life of me think why. I mean, what? I didn't say anything funny. Had Jack drooled on my skirt again? I bent over accidentally to look, and Adam and Jack then cracked up. I stood up straight to glare at him, and Dani – because she didn't want to be left out – started laughing too. At me.  
  
When there was NOTHING funny.  
  
WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?  
  
'Stop laughing,' I snapped at them. They all kind of did then, save CeeCee who still had the uncontrollable giggles. 'Priorities much, Suze?' CeeCee asked me, once she regained her composure.  
  
I wanted to yell at her to shut up, but I thought better of it. I ran my hand through my hair and slowly strolled in the entrance way, looking some more. Dani tugged Paul along to one of the paintings to admire it, her head leaning on the shoulder of Paul's business suit. I wanted to ask her if the painting was prettier looking at it from the side, but I didn't want Paul to say something. Well, that or acknowledge my presence. Heaven knows I did not deserve to be in the same room with Supermodel Danielle Moore and he Super-shifter boyfriend Paul Slater. Wow . . . they even get superhero names.  
  
Me? I'm not a superhero. I'm a super-zero.  
  
'Ooh, Suze,' I heard Jack's voice echo behind me, 'look at the stairs! They go on forever!'  
  
'Don't stray too far away,' Father Dom requested as he stood next to me. 'We wouldn't want to get lost or anything.'  
  
Or anything? What was that supposed to mean?  
  
Well, judging by the size of the mansion's entrance room, I could see that it really wouldn't be hard to get lost in this place. Especially if you were too busy admiring its dark charm instead of trying to figure out where you were. But taking a peek around didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time, really.  
  
'Can we explore, then, Father D?' I asked.  
  
CeeCee piped in with a mischievous smile at Adam, nudging his side, 'In pairs?'  
  
'Very well, then,' Father Dom replied. 'But we must report back here. This, the entrance room, shall be the meeting place.'  
  
'I will go with you, Padre,' Jesse said promptly, shooting a glance at me.  
  
Okay, ouch. That seriously hurt a bit. I mean, I could care less who Enrique-wannabe partnered with. In fact, it was "for the best" that he paired with Father Dom. Or, oh yeah, "padre," in Jesse-speak. The old priest needed someone strong to go with him, in case they encountered the ghost. And yeah, Jesse's a good guy to have on your team because, well, he can't get hurt really by ghosts because he's just so dead.  
  
But that wasn't the reason I was hurt. It meant that Jesse wasn't going with me. Okay . . . I'm not supposed to want Jesse to come with me on this little journey. The least time I spent with him, the better. But he had already done that to me once. And I needed him then, when I went away to college. I really, truly did. What if the ghost decided to attack me? Would he just leave me there, and not check up? AGAIN?  
  
Jack grabbed my hand, just then, and said gleefully, 'Suze! Suze! I want to be with you, Suze!'  
  
Well, at least somebody did.  
  
I looked away from Jesse, furious at my moment of weakness . . . God, I was such a loser. I didn't need Jesse. No way. I was above needing him. I had learnt to rise above it.  
  
I had to learn to survive.  
  
Paul offered his hand to Dani and pleaded, 'Will you be my buddy?' using the Slater Puppy Eyes, no less. On Jack, it was adorable because he had that round, youthful face. But on Paul . . . well, it just looked . . . I dunno. A man in a business suit with his piercing blue eyes widened and his lower lip pouty . . . yeah, totally contradicting.  
  
Dani slipped her hand into Paul's and cackled her psycho laugh. I swear . . . I wanted to rip out her vocal chords myself. Paul quickly shook off the puppy eyes and kissed the top of her hand. I felt the urge to gag. Lucky thing I didn't eat breakfast.  
  
I looked back to Jack and replied, 'Yeah, I'll go with the only SANE Slater here.' I made sure I made my voice loud enough to cause Paul to throw an evil glare at me. I looked at him flatly, and squeezed Jack's hand.  
  
Jesse breezed by me, gripping his large hand firmly on Father Dom's arm, gently guiding him out of the entrance way. I swear, if Jesse were alive, he'd make a great attendant at the old folk's home. Paul took Dani's hand and twirled her around leading her in the opposite direction of Jesse and Dommy. I looked at Jack, who grabbed my hand enthusiastically.  
  
'Let's go up those stairs, Suze!' Jack exclaimed as he pulled me towards them. He was just so enthusiastic about it, it made me want to pinch his little adorable cheeks. But then I remembered that he was thirteen, not seven. The pinching cheek thing wouldn't go over so well. And er, anyway . . . at his age now, he was bordering the whole cheek-pinching thing of his own. Er, just not the cheeks on a girl's face, you know?  
  
As we went up the never-ending staircase, I began to think about what I was like when I was thirteen. I mean, it's such a fragile age. Things just start to change as you graduate from eighth grade and go on to high school. And it's not just you, it's everyone. Your friends change, the limitations your parents put on you change, and even the homework load changes. Mostly, you have two choices . . . either to try to embrace your fleeting childhood, or to go ahead and embrace your blooming adulthood.  
  
When I was thirteen, I wanted to grow up so fast. Part of me already had since my dad had passed away so long ago. And yeah, there was also the whole ghost thing too. But sometimes my head was making checks my butt couldn't cash. I was way ahead of myself then.  
  
I wanted Jack to stay young and innocent forever, you know. Which, in the caring hands of Father Dominic and Jesse, was possible. Of course, corruption had its source too. The face of corruption was his own older brother, Paul Slater.  
  
You may think I'm trying to be so dramatic, but it's the truth. Hell knows Paul has the ability, not only to be a powerful shifter, but also to put crazy notions into peoples' brains.  
  
Like making me think that he actually loved me once, for example. Crazy as that might seem . . .  
  
'Wow,' Jack said as he pulled me down the hallway after finishing the long climb up the stairs, 'Look at the statues! And the photos of all the boys!'  
  
I looked at one photograph of what seemed like the whole school, dated 1969. The latest and last all-school picture taken of Fortunashwein. There were more of those pictures lining the hallway, but I felt drawn to this one for some reason. I looked through all of the boys' faces.  
  
'Look at the one with the glasses,' Jack pointed to one guy as he snickered. 'He looks like he has no eyes! And look at that guy . . . he moved when they took the picture. You know, this one guy in my class ALWAYS does that every year. Sister Ernestine gets mad at him for messing up the picture.'  
  
I noticed, after looking at the picture for a long time, that he wasn't the only guy that ruined the picture. Three others were doing the same thing on the top row. Upperclassmen and their pranks . . .  
  
Then all of a sudden I heard a terrible noise. I looked over my shoulder for a moment, scanning the long hallway. I then realized it was Dani's maniacal laugh, coming all the way from down stairs. I pursed my lips in annoyance.  
  
'Oh, PAUL! You are too funny!' Dani cackled, squealing in delight.  
  
Trigger the gag reflex now . . .  
  
'Stupid redhead . . . just because she's an anorexic model with the teeny waist and the fake- Jack? Do you think they're fake?' I demanded, grabbing Jack's shoulders and shaking him a bit.  
  
'Huh?' Jack asked me, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. 'You mean her eyes? Yeah . . . they are pretty big.'  
  
'Well, them too,' I frowned. 'They're probably glass eyes, you know. Probably blind as a bat that stupid . . . Do you like Danielle?'  
  
'She's okay,' Jack replied. 'She's really, really pretty.'  
  
I rolled my eyes at him. Seriously, what is up with guys these days? First it's Paul, then it's Doc, and now . . . JACK? He's too young to fall for her fake-boobed charms. I swear . . . that is the decline of the male population right there.  
  
Jack saw my expression and added, 'But you're prettier, Suze. It's okay.'  
  
I turned back to Jack, and pleasant warmth developed. I smiled at him amiably. 'Yeah, whatever. Aww, you're gorgeous, you know that?'  
  
He beamed that infamous Slater smile. 'I get that a lot,' he said.  
  
Crap . . . I could have sworn I saw a definite flash of Paul Slater, right there . . .  
  
Not good . . . not good at all. He's my Luke Skywalker . . . and I was not going to lose him to the darkside.  
  
We continued down the dark hallways, checking into the rooms. The carpet on the floor was a rich crimson, and the walls were dark brick. There were actually like, candles along the hallway, but they weren't lit. The wicks were still tall and slightly charred, but judging by the caking dust and the cobwebs around the brackets that held them to the wall, they hadn't been used for a long, long time.  
  
Some of the doors that we checked were locked. Some were only closed. And others were wide open.  
  
How's that for consistency?  
  
Seriously . . . I'd only been in this house for about ten minutes, and it was creeping me out no end already. How long did we have to stay here? I mean, we weren't . . . staying OVERNIGHT, were we?  
  
Ew, the cobwebs! The COBWEBS!!!  
  
There was something to be said for the hallways though. They were wide and – although daunting – strangely accommodating. And the other thing? Oh yeah, to find a smashed vase or a knocked over statue wasn't such a big deal.  
  
What can we say? Ghosts get bored.  
  
They like to break things.  
  
Hmm . . . I frowned, and thought dark thought of Jesse.  
  
. . . Just like Jesse broke me . . .  
  
'Whoa, what happened here?'  
  
Jack was tugging my hand. I looked down at him, not really seeing him that well. I was still thinking. My skin was still creeping a little, and my polo shirt suddenly seemed a little too loose on my torso. As if I'd shrunk, just by thinking myself to be small and pathetic. Whoa.  
  
He looked up at me for explanation.  
  
I blinked, and then snapped out of it. Stupid Suze . . . don't be a loser . . .  
  
'Jack, keep your eyes peeled, okay . . . we might find him, or, uh her.' I looked down the hallway nervously. It seemed to go on forever, just getting darker and darker . . . just like the Shadowland.  
  
Accept there were no cold, winking stars above.  
  
And no fog. Just darkness.  
  
'Suze! I hear something coming from over there . . . ' Jack said suddenly, stopping. I groaned at him. I didn't hear anything. But he looked kind of freaked, as he pointed to a room up ahead with the door closed.  
  
'It's locked, it's fine – ' I began, turning the door handle to prove that all was well, Miss Clavelle, but the door WASN'T locked.  
  
Yeah, THANKS door. SHOW ME UP WHY DON'T YOU?  
  
Jack stared at me. 'Well?'  
  
'Well what?'  
  
'Are we going in?'  
  
'You just said you heard something! You're supposed to be wetting your pants or something, and begging me to back away,' I scowled. What? I really didn't think there was anything in this room. I mean, the door was perfectly normal. No big sign saying "EVIL INSIDE, ENTER IF YOU ARE NOT A WUSS" or anything.  
  
And excuse ME, I'd DEFINITELY be going in thank YOU.  
  
He pouted up at me. 'Let's check it out,' he pleaded. 'Please, please, ple – '  
  
'Okay!' I griped, shoving the door open. Darn Slaters . . . CAN'T take no for an answer now, can they?  
  
Don't I know it . . .  
  
We wandered into the elegant room. It had a good sized bed in it, some drawers, a bookshelf, and a mirror hanging over a small desk. It was probably one of the dormitory rooms. I noticed it was dark just like everything else in the house. Must have been a bummer to board in this school.  
  
'What's that?' Jack asked as he pointed to a square door on the wall. He let go of my hand and walked over to it. He opened the mini-door and peeked in. 'Cool,' he breathed excitedly, 'it's a dumbwaiter! Wow, these rock!'  
  
Jack poked his little curly head in there. I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out, saying, 'Jack, I wouldn't get in that if I were you.'  
  
Truth is, I really didn't know where that dumbwaiter went. I mean, we didn't even know what and where everything was in this place. We just got here for goodness sakes. I couldn't chance little Jackie-poo getting hurt. Not under my watch, and not at all. I still had my duty, as a former babysitter, to make sure the little one was safe.  
  
'I just want to see where it goes,' Jack looked at me innocently. If you would have given him a little halo-thingie, he would have looked just like a little angel right there. A darling, cute little angel.  
  
But I put my foot down. There was no reason to give into the Slater charms. Wow, they really must be genetic . . .  
  
I gripped his arm tighter. 'Jack . . . I don't think that's such a good idea.'  
  
Jack wrenched his arm from my grasp and, ignoring me completely, decided to crawl inside. He made himself comfortable inside and smiled back at me. I let out a sigh of relief. He was safe.  
  
I guess that I thought too soon, because the next thing I know, I feel this chilling wind. It sent shivers up my spine and made every single hair on my body shoot up. The wind or air or whatever it was made the door to the dumbwaiter instantly slam shut.  
  
'JACK!' I yelled, banging my fist on the door. 'Jack! JACK!'  
  
'Suze!' Jack choked in panic. 'Help me!'  
  
He began banging on the inside wall, trying to get himself out. I tried to help him by bashing the door frantically. I even tried to lift it up but it just . . . wouldn't . . . come . . . up!  
  
'Jack!' I shouted again as a terrible panic rose in my heart. Suddenly, I heard a very small chuckle. I whirled around to see who it was, but there was no one there at all. Coward . . .  
  
'It's really dark in here, Suze,' Jack said as calmly as possible, 'but I'm okay.'  
  
For a minute there I almost wanted to believe him. That is, until I heard another dark, masculine laugh that began ringing in my ears.  
  
'Jack . . . listen,' I whispered to him. 'Did you hear that?'  
  
'Uh huh,' Jack said, his voice muffled behind the wall. I heard another laugh . . . one final soft laugh and then it all stopped.  
  
And the dumbwaiter descended.  
  
'JAAAAACK!' I screamed as I tried to open the door. I finally managed to open it rapidly, and I was barely able to catch the rope from the top of the dumbwaiter. It had been cut. Snippety snip . . . as they had been trying to do to Jack's life.  
  
I held onto the rope with all of my strength. I knew it was a long way down. I mean, Jack and I went up a LOT of stairs. I could hear Jack gasping as he stirred around in the dumbwaiter below . . . trying to claw his way out.  
  
'Jack, stop panicking,' I shouted down to him. 'Stop moving!'  
  
'Suze, is that you?' Jack stopped moving for a moment.  
  
I was breathing hard, trying to stay still as I held on to the rope with all my might, and all my willpower. My face was shaking from the strain, and my nails were digging into my palms, but I could barely feel anything but the pain of my grip on the rope. 'Yeah, Jack,' I said as steadily as possible. There was a definite quaver in my tone, but I hoped that Jack wouldn't hear it. Then he'd know that I was panicking. He could die . . . if I dropped this, he could die . . . I could kill him. I literally held his life in my hands. 'Look Jack,' I said, sounding like a shrink, 'I'm going to try and pull it up. Just stay still until you get out. Or else I might . . . well, nevermind, just do as I say.'  
  
I was going to say or "or else I might drop you" but I didn't want to make him scared. As many times as I had faced impending death, I knew the last thing he needed to be was scared. I knew, though, that it's hard. Especially because all the while, one message keeps playing in your head over and over:  
  
I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die.  
  
Jack's going to die, Jack's going to die, Jack's going to die.  
  
'I'll try,' Jack gulped, swallowing his fear.  
  
I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, I thought to myself. I grabbed the rope with my other hand as well and heaved up. It came up slowly and steadily. I was shocked by how well it was working. I mean, where had all this strength come from? Certainly not from me, wimpy-wienie-Suze.  
  
That little box-thingie was extremely heavy with all of that metal and wood. It was, like, pulling up half a car or something. It was pretty hard to do, mind you, so I crawled on the ledge separating the inside and outside of the small elevator, still pulling straight up.  
  
'I can see you,' I told Jack as the box came into view. 'Can you crawl out yet?'  
  
'Yeah,' Jack answered as he began moving around. I slowly stepped back into the room, pulling my rope with me as it brought Jack up more. There was a small part was peaking out, just enough for Jack to squeeze through. But all of the movement that he was making made it harder for me to hold on much longer.  
  
'Careful now,' I gulped, trying to force down my panic. 'Hurry . . . I can't hold it much longer.'  
  
It really did feel like I was going to drop it. He was halfway through. If I dropped it accidentally, we'd only end up with half of a Jack. Or worse, it could bring him back down with it, and he'd be crushed. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my grip more.  
  
Suze . . . just calm down . . . for the love of God . . .  
  
DON'T.  
  
LET.  
  
GO.  
  
My face was screwed up and was trembling almost as much as my arms were. I just couldn't anymore, I – I was going to drop it, SHIT! I was GOING TO DROP –  
  
With one final push, Jack managed to tumble out from the dumbwaiter onto the floor. I let go of the rope with a grunt and fell back on the floor, panting. Jack stood still for a few moments . . . and about ten seconds later we heard an almighty crash. Jack quickly winced from the noise.  
  
'Oh my God. That could have been you,' I said grimly. Jack leaned himself against the wall. Just then, a sudden jolt of pain shot up my arms. I breathed even harder, and jammed my eyes shut. Probably pulled my muscles or something.  
  
Then I realized.  
  
Shit . . .  
  
I couldn't believe it.  
  
For a second, I'd been ready to just let go.  
  
Give up.  
  
After five whole years of refusing to LET GO, I'd just been about to. Let go of Jack Slater. He could have just DIED. I could have killed him! I would have been a murderer! A failure!  
  
I scrambled up, and just grabbed Jack, pulling him into a fierce hug. Even though I didn't say a word, my brain was furiously whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . "  
  
What was I, now? I was weak. I was a FRIGGING QUITTER.  
  
I cuddled Jack closer to me, my heart thumping hard in my chest so dangerously, I could feel the threat that my ribs would shatter. I breathed into his hair, and he just remained still, and freaked.  
  
'Suze, I'm sorry, I should have listened to you, I promise I will from now on, I was just curious to see where – I'm sorry and please calm down, it's okay – '  
  
'Are you all right?' I demanded, pushing him away from me and holding him in front of my face, glaring into his clear blue eyes in infuriated concern.  
  
He nodded. 'Yeah,' he replied breathlessly.  
  
That was when the chuckle returned.  
  
My blood ran cold. Very cold. I spun around so sharply, I felt like there were papercuts all over my body. Small, and stinging horribly. 'Jack?' I swallowed, licking my very dry lips, 'did you just hear that?'  
  
Again, he nodded dumbly.  
  
I turned away, and searched the room suspiciously. There was not a single movement, save the dust that was very visibly floating in the air. Not even the curtains moved. Which was understandable, because the windows had probably not been opened for –  
  
Hold that thought. This one had been opened, very recently. And the curtains had been pushed aside recently.  
  
What did THAT mean? Was it Dic – um, Mr Head's wife? Or was it this ghost?  
  
I seriously, SERIOUSLY hoped it was the former –  
  
Another sudden wraithlike snigger made me flinch. Flinch? I FLINCHED? My GOD. Okay, this ghost was going DOWN.  
  
'Hey!' I snapped, 'Come out, now!'  
  
There was no reply. Jack shuffled closer to me quietly with calculated steps. 'NOW!' I yelled into the humid room.  
  
But nothing came. I sighed, and ran my hands down from the roots of my hair to the tips, feeling a stressful exasperation, My heart felt heavy, and I wasn't sure why. Oh yeah, I almost committed manslaughter that was it.  
  
Bingo.  
  
Jack touched my arm softly with very cold fingers. 'I don't see anything, Suze.'  
  
I scowled at him, but not AT him, if you know what I mean. Just, in his general direction, while thinking about this crappy ghost. 'God, creepy son of a bitch. Too SCARED to fight me? Well, FINE, we'll just – '  
  
That was when, with a roaring rumble, the dumbwaiter came crashing up the shoot, and stopped in perfect condition – not broken or anything. Only on the door, was . . .  
  
Well . . .  
  
'Ew,' Jack said in revulsion. 'Is that barbecue sauce?'  
  
I too looked at the now tainted door of the dumbwaiter. A very, very disturbing brown handprint was smeared across the door. I felt the hairs over my arms raise accordingly.  
  
'No,' I whispered breathlessly. 'Jack, that's . . . blood.'  
  
'Ew,' Jack repeated.  
  
Suddenly, the mini chandelier above my head tinkled in warning, and about a second before it actually happened, I shoved Jack out of the way as it plummeted down to the ground, shattering most effectively. Crystal and glass flew everywhere. I gasped from my butt-position, and looked quickly at Jack, who was looking right back at me with wild eyes.  
  
'Jack, come on! Someone's messing with us, we have to get out of here!' I urged, scrambling up as he followed my lead. I barged at the door, then grabbed Jack by the scruff of his shirt. We both burst out with an explosion of dust that we had unsettled again, and began running down the hall in a fairly unruly manner, and at break-neck speed.  
  
Random bangs and laughs echoed demonically behind us. They were eerie, bodiless and horribly haunting. I felt my heart jolt as each and every one. They chilled even me, Suze Simon, to the core. I had to get Jack out of here . . . oh yeah, and me too.  
  
We reached the stairs, after an eternity of rapid sprinting. I swung round on the ball on the top of the banister, and bolted down the stairs, Jack in hot pursuit. We got to the third floor, when a nicely timed event stopped me in my swift tracks.  
  
'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"  
  
Now, THAT was a noise that could stop traffic. Oh yes, I'm totally traffic now. Beep, honk. I am a Porsche. Come and drive me long and –  
  
Don't finish that sentence.  
  
But yeah, when someone screams out "AAAH!" you tend to stop, and your eyes tend to widen, and your grip on the banister of the staircase that you are fleeing down tends to become rather slippery.  
  
Especially if that scream had been that of one of your best friends.  
  
I stopped dead.  
  
'CeeCee!' I shouted, starting to panic that little bit more.  
  
'SUUUUUUUZE!' I heard CeeCee shout again, her voice shrill and pleading.  
  
Jack gasped and planted his feet, stopping us completely. I whipped around and looked into his wide eyes, which were filled with obvious fear. 'Come on, Jack,' I pleaded with him. Jack still held his ground, however.  
  
'W-what's going o-on?' Jack asked. I was getting goosebumps from his icy fingers, which were gripped on my wrist. You know, the whole cold iron grip thing.  
  
The little guy was scared. And he had every right to be. I mean, he just barely escaped his death only a few minutes ago. It was all my fault too. I had put him in this danger. I shouldn't have made him come with me. I should have left him with Father Dominic and Jesse.  
  
I never should have let him join the SIA. The SIA should have never been formed. I KNEW this was a bad idea.  
  
Allow me to take a moment to say "I TOLD YOU SO!!!"  
  
Moment taken.  
  
There I go again, with all of this quitter-talk. Regret wasn't going to get me anywhere. It wasn't going to stop Jack from being afraid, and it certainly wasn't getting CeeCee out of whatever danger she was in right then.  
  
I had to brush the lint off my shoulders, pick myself up off the ground, and focus on the task at hand.  
  
'I don't know,' I replied to his previous question. 'All I know is that her shouts are coming from the level below. We gotta run, Jack.'  
  
Jack didn't question me this time. We took off running down a flight of stairs to the second floor. I pulled Jack down the long, narrow hallway towards the shouts of CeeCee – and now Adam. Whoever or whatever it was had them both.  
  
'Where are you guys?' I asked desperately, stopping moment to find my bearings.  
  
'HERE!' I heard Adam's muffled voice yell. 'WE'RE NEXT TO THE HUGE MIRROR!'  
  
This time, it was Jack that was doing most of the running. He pulled me down that eerie hallway, until I caught my reflection in a large full- length mirror. Jack stopped and commanded, 'Knock or something . . . make a noise so we can tell where you are.'  
  
Right beside the mirror, we could hear furious knocking on a small patch of the wall, which was covered by a thin but beautifully decorated tapestry.  
  
Jack tapped on the wall and turned to me, asking, 'How are we supposed to get them out of there?'  
  
'Adam, CeeCee, get as far back as you can. You too, Jack,' I commanded as I ripped the tapestry off of the wall with a yank.  
  
Jack moved away a bit as I put my arms out and took a few steps back. I ran at the wall as fast and as hard as I could, kicking right through it. Most of the wood fell away. I had put a very impressive hole in the wall. The good news was that I had kicked the wall so hard . . . just enough for the two of them to push the wood away to get out.  
  
The bad news? That also included the wall making a very impressive hole in me. Bits of the wall jammed right in my leg. I groaned in pain as I touched my leg gingerly, but then with my hands, I began tearing at the wooden wall, making the hole bigger so that CeeCee and Adam could climb through.  
  
Then I flopped on my butt, my face all screwy.  
  
'Suze!' CeeCee gasped, as her ashen face popped out. Well, it was always white, but now, it looked kind of grey. She slid out of the hole-proudly- sponsored-by-Suze-Simon, and stood up carefully, then offering a hand to Adam. He crawled out too, looking very freaked.  
  
'Whoa, what WAS that?' he asked, in a rasping voice, looking like he'd lost his nerve. I didn't answer him, too busy removing the bits of wood from my ankle. I swear to God, I really need to stick with the jeans. I TRY to go all out for the whole first-day-as-an-SIAan, and look what I get? Joy. Nah, it's strictly Mudd jeans for me. Or hell, maybe I should just invest in a bulk loan of overalls or something.  
  
And a hard hat.  
  
Nifty . . .  
  
'I don't know, I replied to him finally. The injury was bleeding cheerfully by then. I grimaced again, peering at the damage. My ankle was stained with a dark red, which was a lot redder than that spooky handprint on the dumbwaiter door had been. Ew . . . Jack moved a little closer, looking at my ankle sympathetically. He patted me on the back, trying to be soothing.  
  
'How did you end up in there?' I wanted to know. My voice was kind of thin and like, only half there. I had a bad feeling that whoever it was messing with Jack was the same one who shoved Adam and CeeCee into a wall.  
  
A seedy smile swam over Adam's features. I tell you, he'd grown up a lot everywhere else – taller, better built – but his face still looked adorable and just like the resident Court Jester. Always ready to pop out the jokes. But then, he had matured a lot. There was a far more serious side to him now, something that had been born when he began to really appreciate CeeCee.  
  
'Well, we were standing there, just making-out – '  
  
'Exploring,' CeeCee coughed hurriedly, shooting him an "are you insane???" glower.  
  
Adam smirked. 'Yes, exploring. Each other's mouths – '  
  
CeeCee coughed again, and continued for him. 'Yeah, well, suddenly, something pushed us RIGHT THROUGH THE WOOD, Suze,' she explained earnestly, looking very freaked.  
  
'Then it was dark,' Adam recollected solemnly.  
  
'Right through, Suze. It's not possible! I am made of matter,' CeeCee said huffily, crossing her arms. Funnily enough, neither of them had really noticed my poor ankle just yet. Which was understandable – they were both confused and freaked out about what had apparently just happened to them. But excuse me for wanting some compassion, right?  
  
'You're made of matter,' I nodded, 'But maybe the wood wasn't.'  
  
Adam blinked idiotically. 'Uh . . . huh?'  
  
I sighed as I slid my shoe off my foot, removed my sock, and used it in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. I was starting to feel kinda light-headed. And you know, light-headedness isn't all it's crack up to be . . . I'd removed most of the splinters from the skin, I think, but it still hurt like crazy. I peeled the sock away to check it, but the blood was kind of sticking the fabric down to my leg.  
  
'Oh, that's attractive,' I murmured dully, leaning forward more.  
  
CeeCee and Adam seemed to be sharply jerked out of their little post- paranormal dreamland, and at long last, perceived that I actually had a big boo-boo. Better late than never I guess . . .  
  
'Shit!' Adam started muttering blasphemy, and CeeCee gasped. 'Oh, Suze, what happened?'  
  
I gave her a maddened look. 'I put my foot through a wall, that's what,' I replied moodily. 'I told the lot of you, that this SIA thing was a silly idea, and that you two had not the brain capacity to look further than yourselves and see that these ghosts can actually hurt the people that they can TOUCH more than you – '  
  
Jack yawned hintingly, telling me basically to shut up and stop my emotional psychobabble. What? I was annoyed. Don't give me crap, okay? Jack had almost died, and hell, who knows, I might not have heard CeeCee and Adam. And then where would they have been?  
  
In a supernaturally locked closet, that's what.  
  
Dead.  
  
So can you BLAME me for being a little peppery?  
  
CeeCee looked kind of hurt. 'Suze, I didn't mean to . . . ' she trailed off, looking weirded out. Adam was just staring at my leg with raised eyebrows.  
  
Then Jack exhaled noisily. 'You know, Suze, I can fix that,' he said, nodding at my gash.  
  
I kind of ignored him. My ankle was starting to resemble a balloon. Which was just not cool. I am not into the party favour look, you know?  
  
Not to mention this balloon was an ugly purple, with a gooey red slash along it.  
  
Wanna kiss it better?  
  
Ew.  
  
'Suze, really. Jesse taught me how,' Jack insisted with a whine.  
  
Wait. '. . . What?' I demanded, stopping at giving him a harsh look. Again, something weird fluttered inside of me. Jesse taught him how. Jesse was his best friend. Jesse watched over him now.  
  
God, does Jesse LIVE WITH HIM TOO???  
  
I don't want to know.  
  
I swallowed, and then shook my head, cavalierly. 'Whatever,' I shrugged. Adam had his arm around CeeCee's shoulder, as they were both staring down at me, looking quite shocked. Wow, fat lot of help they were. Didn't want them in my life-crisis, Jesus.  
  
Jack knelt down beside me, frowning. He looked up for a moment, and then past me. Then he blanched and shivered a little.  
  
'What?' I asked quickly. I mean, that kid had just PALED like his blood had funneled out or something.  
  
He shook himself. 'Nothing, just, um, that painting over there, the one with the pretty lady in the red dress – ' he pointed, ' – just winked at me.'  
  
'Jack,' I scolded, 'Stop perving for one minute? God, you and your brother . . . I swear – And now you're perving on TWO DIMENSIONAL babes, well, that's just – '  
  
'Suze, it really did!' he whined, pouting. My foot pulsated sorely and I stifled a grunt.  
  
'Yeah yeah, I believe you, whatever,' I said hastily, 'Just . . . please, this really hurts.' He looked down at my foot cluelessly. 'Um,' he mumbled, his voice laced with nervousness – at me biting his head off, most likely – 'Suze? I can't remember what he – '  
  
'Fine, call him,' I snapped. God, that was what he was aiming towards, wasn't it? Right? They wanted to just call Jesse and try to get us to get over ourselves, right? THANKS.  
  
Jack stared. 'What? Call Jesse? I can . . . like, whenever I want to?' he looked perplexed.  
  
Oh yeah . . . non-shifter. Bummer.  
  
I rolled my eyes, and winced again. CeeCee and Adam were still looking like not-so-Greek statues. 'God damn it . . . ' I muttered darkly. 'Uh, okay, Jesse, get your butt here. I've been gored, you'll be pleased to know.' I threw the message out across the astral plane with my mind, closing my eyes and imagining him being summoned to here . . .  
  
With a cascade of dazzling sapphires – metaphoric, God I WISH – Jesse appeared almost instantly. Now that's service.  
  
'Susannah,' he whispered in a gentle voice. 'Wanna hammer?'  
  
WHAT THE HELL?!?!?! ((A/N: Manda! Snort!))  
  
I looked up at him, scandalized. 'What did you just say?' I demanded in horror, my mouth open.  
  
Hammer? HAMMER? HOW APPALLING! JESSE JUST ASKED IF I WANTED TO –  
  
'I said, 'What's the matter',' he arched his eyebrows skeptically. 'Is this suddenly socially unacceptable?'  
  
My heart was pacified. Thank the Lord. 'Oh,' I replied, feeling a blush steal my cheeks. 'Right. Sorry, my bad. I need a hearing aid or something – '  
  
I was cut off by a stupefying burst of pain. I bowed my head and jammed the sock harder against my leg, holding my breath. God almighty!  
  
'Nombre de Dios, Susannah!' Jesse exclaimed, 'what have you done to yourself?'  
  
Oh yeah, like I did that on purpose.  
  
Needless to say, when he said that . . . something tugged painfully at my heartstrings, as if he was playing them like a bass guitar or something. That Spanish . . . that very phrase . . . it brought back so many memories. How I'd always manage to get myself in deep shit, and he'd have to dig me out of the shit pile.  
  
Good times, man. Good times.  
  
Gone.  
  
'Shut up with the Spanish, God spare me . . . please, just . . . do what you do. That thing? That thing that you do? The . . . um, thing?'  
  
Jesse narrowed his eyes, bemused.  
  
I threw a dull look at CeeCee. 'I haven't got a clue, have I?'  
  
She shrugged, baffled. 'Neither. I can't even see the guy.'  
  
Oh. Yeah.  
  
That was when – to my somewhat alarm – Jesse bent down, scooped me up, and carried me into the classroom that we were all hanging outside of. Hey! Not with the touchy feely stuff! Get off, get off!  
  
I had to learn to live without that . . . I didn't want to get used to it again . . .  
  
'Wow . . . she can fly too,' Adam breathed.  
  
I threw him a dirty look as they followed us – um, me and Jesse – in.  
  
God . . . it felt so weird. Him touching me, I mean. His arms were all warm and strong and muscly and ghostly and I felt myself unwillingly . . . well, melting again. Like, going all limb and woozy. Ugh, not hot. I stiffened very quickly, trying to make this whole thing seem as impersonal as possible. It was like, he was secretly doing more than that. Like he was trying to break down the walls I'd built up around me. And, well, you know how ghosts can blow things up . . .  
  
I wouldn't stand a chance, right?  
  
It was just, well, he could have EASILY walked me, but noooo, he had to go all swashbuckling and heroic on me, and CARRY me like I was a helpless abandoned kitten or something. But he picked me up too fast for me to shove myself away and grab my crucifix and scream "Stop in the name of the Law – I mean, Lord!" at him. Which, I kind of wanted to . . .  
  
But then Adam and CeeCee would give me even weirder looks.  
  
And Jack would get bored and he might, um, fall asleep due to um, boredom or something. And he might snore. Or drool all over my top again. Which I did NOT want.  
  
Or hell, he might slip down a dumbwaiter, and DIE.  
  
. . . Whoa . . . that was random . . . how'd I get to THAT?  
  
When Jesse finally set me on one of the desks, I felt very relieved and at the same time, very VERY giddy. I practically jumped away from him, which made CeeCee and Adam exchange freaked glances. Something was pumping in my chest very hard. Oh yeah, heart. Stupid internal organ . . . blah. I didn't like it. Not at all.  
  
STOP PUMPING, DAMN IT!  
  
My heart, not Jesse.  
  
. . . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!  
  
I shuddered violently and glared furiously at the blank blackboard, screaming in protest at my weird, WEIRD brain. What was my damage? God, I was a freak . "Jesse" and "pumping" in the same sentence was . . . ew . . .  
  
Don't explore those possibilities, kindly.  
  
Jesse then squatted in front of my foot, a frown on his face. I watched him expressionlessly as he very meticulously examined the wound. Thank God I wax my legs . . . honestly. Or this would have been a rather mortifying situation. Um, not that people in Jesse's time would freak at the sight of hairy legs.  
  
Ugh. What if MARIA HAD HAIRY LEGS?  
  
EWW. He was about to MARRY his COUSIN with HAIRY LEGS.  
  
DOUBLE EWW.  
  
But seriously . . . the way he was doing this, it was just so . . . you know. Remember that Jimmy Choo thing, so long ago? Like that. EXACTLY like that. But . . . bad Suze. That was the past. Adios to the past, remember?  
  
Yes, my 'adios amigos' policy.  
  
That was when Jesse's fingers touched the skin around the gash. Oh crap. I just about keeled over. I had no idea why . . . it was like my whole ankle had swelled up. It felt as hard as rock. Oooh, damn it. Remind me to give CeeCee and Adam lifelong IOU cards, right?  
  
Jesse apologized abundantly. And so he should have. I mean, yeah, it wasn't his FAULT that he had cold hands – kind of a side-effect of the whole dead thing – but he still should have warned me. Now my leg felt like it was about to pop in dissent.  
  
And rain the world with pus.  
  
Amen.  
  
. . . I don't know what's worse . . . hairy legs or pus.  
  
Oh GOD I'm insane.  
  
Then, what Jesse then proceeded to do next would have made any female mediator's breath catch sharply in her throat and her eyes widen in interest and thrill.  
  
He ripped off the bottom of his shirt.  
  
So can you BLAME me for kind of, um, squeaking? What? Hey, I was NOT expecting Jesse to go all striptease on me, OKAY?! But well . . . a girl's gotta admire something. And when those somethings come in the form of some heavy duty abdominal muscles, well . . . um . . .  
  
Oh, SHUT UP.  
  
Jesse looked up quickly. 'Susannah?' he asked, 'Did I – '  
  
'No, I'm fine,' I said.  
  
'Then why did you make that noise?'  
  
I went very red. 'Um . . . noise?'  
  
He blinked, clutching the material of his shirt loosely in his hand, ready to obviously tie it around my leg. 'Yes, you made a . . . well, a high- pitched noise. I assumed that I hurt you. Is that why you made that sound?'  
  
NO IT'S BECAUSE I CAUGHT SIGHT OF YOUR ABS, YOU NINCOMPOOP.  
  
'Um . . . yeah . . . '  
  
My face was burning. I felt so humiliated. Sorry, it was just too embarrassing. I felt like I was in an oven of degradation. God, it was annoying.  
  
Be rest assured. God, Jesse is not the kind of guy to suddenly rip his shirt open and scream, "Susannah...I just realized... I'm SEXY!"  
  
Oh, Mother Mary, forgive me.  
  
And HIM if he ever did that.  
  
Why me? Why were all of these completely wrong thoughts just swimming in my head? Especially since they were wrong thoughts about JESSE of all people. This was supposed to be over a long time ago.  
  
God, I felt so WEIRD. Like, something about Jesse was making my mind race faster than it had done in a long time. All these insinuating things that he was doing . . . I'd never blushed so hard, not since that thing with the mushroom feet and the Critical Theory Since Plato and when he said that "At last I have you where I want you . . . "thing.  
  
And hell, I was SIXTEEN, OKAY? Everything was an innuendo back then.  
  
WHAT WAS MY EXCUSE NOW, HUH???  
  
Ugh . . . I'm gonna burn in hell.  
  
Yay. That'll be a party.  
  
Well, hmph! Jesse's NOT INVITED.  
  
So stick THAT up your bum and fart it! I –  
  
Holy crap . . . discussing FLATULENCE?! What was I ON, man?!  
  
I almost – ALMOST – thanked the distraction of Jesse carefully wrapping the length of his shirt around my leg carefully. He was being so . . . gentle. Like his gentleness was a plea for forgiveness or something. Like he was trying to prove something. What, I had no idea. What would an insufferable gentleman of the 1800s want to prove to me? Oh yeah, add ex-boyfriend to that list, and we might have struck gold . . .  
  
But I didn't want to be proven anything. So when he was quite done, and I was watching new blood absorb slowly and carefully through the old material, I sniffed a brief thanks and shrugged, looking back to Jack who'd wandered over, smiling.  
  
'He's good at this stuff,' he beamed at Jesse. Ugh . . . Of course, the Jesse Fan Club. Lick his spurs, why don't you, Jack?  
  
Jack bent down and I freaked.  
  
No! I didn't mean it –  
  
Oh. It was safe. He was picking up my shoe. Well, that was okay. I mean, better than tonguing any nineteenth century footwear, you know? Oh man, I need therapy.  
  
I looked away from Jesse totally, over to Adam and CeeCee who were watching in a quiet fascination – how a layer of blood was probably just floating over my skin. Because they couldn't see the fabric. It was dead, with Jesse. A ghost of the true shirt.  
  
Whoa, way to reproduce.  
  
Um . . . clothing. Not –  
  
YOU KNOW.  
  
Jesse caught my eyes again, and once I was looking at him, I couldn't look away. There was genuineness in there, a purity that I remembered so well. It seemed uncanny that this man – no, ghost – had broken my heart so long ago. It was like that hadn't really happened. No, that he was TRYING to make me forget.  
  
Butt head.  
  
'Is that too tight, Susannah?' he asked with an apprehensive frown and a strange tone in his Spanish voice. His eyes were so black and deep. But I just saw them as hollow.  
  
They'd always be hollow. That was my image of him now. Void . . . cavernous . . . empty . . .  
  
I sighed lazily. 'It's fine,' I assured him. I was in a grump now. Stupid laughing ghost . . . he thought he was going to get the BETTER of me, huh? Try to kill Jack, and make me all freaked out?! NEVER!  
  
Jesse stood up, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to pick me up again. I was kind of relieved when he offered his hand politely, a strange little smile playing across his lips.  
  
Stupid lips . . . baaah. Make me go all weak-kneed, why don't you?  
  
I shot him a glare, and instead, supported my weight on Jack, who looked more than happy to help. To Jesse, I shot back an aloof, 'Thanks.'  
  
I didn't even look at him, but I could hear from his tone that he wasn't pleased. 'Any time you need me, querida,' he said softly, sounding lost.  
  
Yeah, ANY TIME. Okay, how about FIVE YEARS AGO? That works for me, you jerk.  
  
Wait. Rewind. Pause. Did he just call me –?  
  
Nah must've heard him wrong or something.  
  
I limped past Adam and CeeCee, who – looking stunned – followed Jack and I. My foot wasn't quite as painful as before. In fact, it felt kind of numb. Maybe Jesse had done it too tight. Yeah, that was it. Dumbass . . . cutting off my circulation, NICE.  
  
'I should return to Father Dominic,' Jesse said, 'I did not provide him with an adequate explanation of my sudden disappearance.'  
  
'Cool,' I said. 'Go disappear then.'  
  
I heard him dematerialize. Oh, finally. NOW he listens to m –  
  
Well, he kind of ruined my early celebrating by materializing in front of me, looking very irritated. Well, whoop de freaking doo.  
  
His black, curling hair was gleaming rather nicely, and his angry eyes looked all hot and mad and stuff, but I conveniently chose to ignore that. I pleasured him to a very bored expression on my part. 'What?' I groaned.  
  
His look hardened even more. 'We should all go to him,' he said in a firm tone. 'He will be expecting us all back now. We should go.'  
  
'Oh, okay, will do. I'll just . . . I dunno, roll down the stairs or something. Or hell, Jack? Why don't we take the dumbwaiter?' I beamed in dry sarcasm. My forced smile slid off my face like raindrops down a window.  
  
'But Suze,' Jack began, 'The dumbwaiter's haun – '  
  
'Broken,' I cut off, looking down at him. He blinked up at me weirdly, and shrugged, with a soft 'whatever, then . . . '  
  
Why I didn't want Jesse to know about the ghosts, I had no idea. But whatever. It didn't really matter, right?  
  
Jesse looked even more annoyed. Oooh, what fun. Let's all poke him and see if he bites, then? Happy joy. 'Susannah,' he chided crossly, 'Do stop acting like a child. This is not the time, nor the place. I understand that you are in pain,' he lowered his gaze to my foot, 'and no, not just that physical pain. If you would look beyond yourself, Susannah, you will see that you are not the only one that has been thrown into an awkward position.'  
  
'Oh yeah?' I shouted, shoving past him with Jack, who looked torn, 'What's so bad about this for you, Jesse? Seeing me again? Well, thanks. I'll have to work on that make-up applying now, won't I – '  
  
'Do not speak of your damned paints!' he snapped, 'Susannah, we must settle these differences, if we are to – '  
  
But I was now yanking Jack along, mindful of the stabbing pain in my ankle, but not really caring any more. My GOD. Jesse thought HE was suffering? What an ass! He was NOT the one that got left all alone in a hospital room! He did NOT get dumped on the night of his GRADUATION DANCE. You know, your last chance to hang out with your friends before you skip merrily away and become an adult? HE NEVER EXPERIENCED THAT!  
  
So he should SHUT his hot Latino FACE.  
  
I could hear Adam and CeeCee murmuring from behind me. I flushed again. Wonder what they were saying? "Suze has no job. Suze has no boyfriend. Suze has no life. Suze has no reason to have a life." Yeah, that's right. Maybe so. So I'd appreciate it if certain cowboy GHOSTS didn't screw up my whole "not living" thing. It was WORKING for me.  
  
But then, Jack stopped me. I couldn't really move any more, because he had stranded me. 'Help,' I said to him. Jack pouted. 'Not until you start being nice to Jesse,' he carped, 'It's getting annoying hearing the two of you fight.'  
  
'And it's getting annoying hearing the one of you fight,' Adam added.  
  
I shot him a glare. Jesse stood by the doorframe, looking fondly at Jack.  
  
Stupid jerk.  
  
Jesse, not Jack.  
  
Jack's a sweetie. A slightly exasperating one with the drooling, the dumbwaiter incident, and coming to the defense of Jesse DeSexy – er, I mean, DeStupid. But still a sweetie-pie.  
  
I groaned, and looked over at CeeCee and Adam for assistance, but they just stood there. Funny, they seemed to be doing that a lot lately.  
  
Thanks a bunch, guys. Really. You're BOTH off my Christmas list!  
  
Grrr . . . argh . . . I felt like foaming at the mouth, just to show them how annoying they were being.  
  
But I, um, didn't.  
  
Ew.  
  
Finally, I rolled my eyes at Jack. 'Whatever,' I said. What? I didn't have to MEAN it. I just had to get down those stairs, okay? It was only one floor . . . I mean, it wasn't like I had to lie for long, right? The guilt couldn't set in too heavy in such a short space of time –  
  
Jack beamed at me brightly, and at Jesse, and then held carefully onto my arm again. My ankle, oh so traditionally, throbbed in objection at my movement, but I just really wanted to go and sit down in a bench and "elevate my foot" and shut up, cross my arms, and sulk at everyone. My temper was filthy.  
  
He assisted me to the stair railing, followed by the ever-useless lovebirds, and Jesse – to my chagrin, walked down behind me, making sure I didn't fall.  
  
Joy. I'd rather trip, honey. Serious.  
  
Well, okay, I didn't MEAN it. Because about on the seventh step down, I kind of did put too much weight on my ankle, which buckled, and I was destined to fall flat on my face and bump the rest of the way down the stairs if Jesse's hands had not shot around my waist, and pulled me back into him, making me swallow very, very hard and making my head pump – no, BEAT . . . ew – faster than before.  
  
Oh God . . . his embrace was getting kind of possessive.  
  
And . . . warm.  
  
Which I DID NOT WANT.  
  
I squirmed away, sending him back a glare. 'I'm fine,' I stressed, and managed to get onto the ground floor. Jack aided me over to a guest bench, and I shyly rested my foot on the edge of the armrest, feeling awkward. You know, with the skirt and all. So I just chucked 'em both up there, ya know? Making it look not so slutty and stuff.  
  
((A/N: It's HAILING in Aussie land, argh! H- Oh, and the weather in Texas ain't that great either. Rain, rain, and more rain. ))  
  
Apparently the world thinks I should be slutty or something, or else my movements were a little too fast for my current state because I nearly fell off of the guest bench. Luckily Jack was there so I could grab his arm to steady myself. I probably looked like a total loser and all, considering the fact that I got injured THE FIRST DAY. How's that gonna look on the resume?  
  
I heard someone coming, and I thought it was Father Dom so I tried to straighten myself a bit so that I looked better than I actually felt. But much to my disappointment, it wasn't the good Father. It was My-Size- Barbie – er, I mean Danielle.  
  
'Well,' she said with a coy smile, 'look what Sue has already managed to do . . . '  
  
I glared back at her. S-U-Z-E! Annoying bitch . . . why did she make it her goal to make me more miserable than I already was? You'd think she'd have some sympathy for the crippled or something.  
  
Yeah right. The last thing I needed was sympathy. She was right, wasn't she? I'm just pathetic little Sue, who already obtained an injury within the first few hours of setting foot in this house. This just wasn't looking so good for me.  
  
Someone's having an off day.  
  
Strike that. Someone's having an off LIFE.  
  
Just as I thought I'd had enough unbearable pain for one day, Paul decided to grace me with his presence. Well, okay, not actually me. He followed Dani and gave her one of those hugs-from-behind. You know, where he wraps his arms around her waist and places his head on her shoulders? Yeah, that.  
  
He nuzzled her neck a bit and then propped his chin on her shoulder. As he saw pathetic little me all stretched out on the guest bench with my sore foot, his piercing blue eyes widened. 'Whoa,' he said as he lifted his chin off of Dani's bony shoulder. 'What happened to you?'  
  
'Oh, nothing,' I joked weakly, avoiding his stare by looking at the carpet. 'I just, you know, saved a few lives . . . the usual.'  
  
Paul stared at my leg. The gory one with the blood leaking from it . . . not the other one. That would just be wrong and creepy and disgusting and –  
  
My previous complaint about the impure thoughts I tied to Jesse? Yeah, it applies to Paul too. Ew . . .  
  
Dani nudged him, bringing his laser gaze from my leg right into my eyes. Let me tell you, I panicked. I felt my soul burning with each passing moment. My life was already hell enough...no need to suffer from permanent sunburn.  
  
I looked at Jack pointedly and asked, 'Are you okay?'  
  
Jack gave me a funny look. 'Why are you asking me that?' he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.  
  
'You had a close call back there,' I reminded him, patting his arm for emphasis. 'I feel quite obliged to ask, as to check for any psychological reactions to your traumatic near death experience. I can help you out, you know. That's my job as a psyche major.'  
  
'I wouldn't say it was traumatic,' Jack said as he furrowed his eyebrows, 'but it was pretty freaky.'  
  
'Denial,' I said as I shook my head solemnly. 'It can happen to anyone at any age.'  
  
Paul walked over by the bench I was on and knelt by it to examine my leg more closely. 'Ouch,' he said as he fingered the bandage made of Jesse's shirt.  
  
'Yeah, ouch. So stop doing that,' I snapped as I swatted his hand away. Paul scowled as he draped his arm on his bended knee all casually and stuff. Which, you know, looked totally weird since he was in a business suit and everything. Only, I noticed that his tie was a bit crooked and the top button on his shirt was undone. You don't need a lawyer to figure out that Paul had been up to something else besides ghostbusting, if you know what I mean. Unless Dani was a ghost and we were discussing her bust.  
  
Um, wrong?  
  
Ignore me . . .  
  
I propped myself up on my elbows and glared at Paul icily. 'We seem to have a poltergeist,' I explained to him coldly. 'I couldn't see it. Stupid coward, whoever it is, is hiding. But I heard some laughing when after it tried to kill your poor innocent little brother.' Paul looked stunned.  
  
'Oh, wait,' I hissed coldly, only loud enough for Paul to hear, 'you already tried that.'  
  
Paul's eyes narrowed dangerously at me, and surprisingly, so did Jack's. Oh well. Paul had probably, I dunno, brainwashed him too. See? EVIL! He stood up and walked over to Dani. Ha, probably for protection from me. I mean, if someone tried to stab him, Dani could just do a Scary Movie 1 and jump in the way and –  
  
Oh my GOD, what is my problem?!  
  
I tossed my hair coolly. 'Where's Father Dom?' I asked with an indifferent smile.  
  
Jack stopped glaring and sighed. 'Jesse went to go get him, I think. He's bringing him here, Suze.'  
  
I nodded. 'Whatever.' Then I looked unkindly over at Paul. 'So, did you and Danielle dearest get sucked into an invisible hole in the wall while making out as well? CeeCee and Adam have Been There, Done That. They're mighty proud of themselves.' My voice was iced with a coldness that weirded me out. It actually was kind of therapeutic to release some of the harbored bitterness that I'd been hiding for all these years. I'd never met anyone who fully deserved the wrath that was building up inside of me. Now it was time for said wrath to be shown to its creators.  
  
Namely, Paul and Jesse.  
  
CeeCee was grinning feebly, but Adam was beaming with delight, as if to say, "YES, WE WERE TASTELESSLY TONGUING EACH OTHER, MOCK US IF YOU WILL, FOOLS WHO HAVE NO ONE TO TONGUE."  
  
Whatever.  
  
Paul grinned naughtily at Dani. 'No,' he said, running his lawyer's hands down her sides, 'No walls.'  
  
Huh?  
  
'Oh Paul!' cackled Dani, smiling horribly. I mean, it might have looked nice on camera, but up close, it was disgusting. Well, maybe that was just because I thought she was an uber-bitch. Oh well, life's like that.  
  
I rolled my eyes. 'Sorry I asked . . . '  
  
That was of course when Father Dominic came bustling down the adjoining hallway in his all blacks. That is to say, he had that annoying black uniform that priests wear as casual dress, with the little white priest's collar to boot. Not to mention the shiny black Cole Haans. Whoa, Father Dom had style for an old guy.  
  
'Children!' he cried, looking alarmed as he marched into the actual entrance section, with all of the creepy paintings staring at him, 'There you are. Jesse informed me that Susannah has suffered an injury.'  
  
Jesse materialized behind him, his face torn between aggravation and anxiety. Like, he couldn't decide whether he was pissed at me or worried.  
  
What can I say? I have that effect on people.  
  
Paul moved closer still to Dani, his arms coming around her snugly. He smirked down at me, with a haughty gleam in his eyes. God, he was so full of it . . . Nevertheless, my eyes snapped away. I glared at the floor, feeling low.  
  
I already got smooshed. Wow, what a great start to the SIA.  
  
Not.  
  
'Look,' I said, rolling my eyes, ' I'm fine. It's this ghost we need to like, focus on now. Anyone else have a close call with him – um, it?'  
  
I saw Jesse look away. Good. I'm glad he picked that up. It was high time that I started realizing that I couldn't let ghosts walk all over me. I know, Paul's advice. I should have preferred to snog my old cat Spike than to have listened to him, but his rule was very much so applicable in Jesse's case. I had realized that Jesse was dead, and like HE'D EVEN SAID, our breaking up was "for the best." See? Jesse was the one that made me think like this. You know, being all cynical about ghosts and stuff. So yeah, it was his fault. He ruined everything.  
  
So Jesse was an "it" to me too.  
  
My ex-it.  
  
Ha . . . exit. Cute. Yeah, exit of my life. I didn't even live anymore.  
  
'Me and Jack are accounted for,' I went on snobbishly, 'I mean, with the whole dumbwaiter thing – don't ask. CeeCee and Adam had a close call – resulting in my heinous ankle . . . but anyone else?'  
  
Father Dominic kind of blushed. 'Well . . . the female subject of a portrait, er, winked at me,' he mumbled his words together.  
  
Aww . . . widdle pwiest got winked at. Aww.  
  
'Paul? Jesse?' I asked them both, conveniently ignoring Dani, much to Paul's annoyance. He gave me a hard look and was about to say something, when I cut them off. 'Oh yeah, of course. You two were busy in each other's passionate embrace,' I interrupted crudely. 'Father Dom . . . please tell me you have a different story. I mean, Jesse doesn't seem like that kind of guy and well, you, well that's like, unorthodox, right?'  
  
Adam and CeeCee snorted with laughter, and Paul regarded them with a cold look. He then glared back at me, and was joined by Father Dom, who looked insulted. 'Susannah,' Father D said in a grave, irritated tone, 'I am being quite serious.'  
  
I smiled sweetly at them all. 'Aaah, just like old times. Everyone hates Susie again.'  
  
Jesse got about half a syllable out, but I cut him off too. Yay, just like scissors. You know, with the cutting off and stuff? I'll give you the snip! I'll cut anything, from paper to umbilical cords to your –  
  
Er . . . never mind.  
  
I don't wanna be scissors so much, anymore . . . eww . . .  
  
'Look,' I said quickly, 'I can stand, I'm fine – ' I heaved myself up with a soft grunt and pretended to stand on my left foot. If they looked close enough, they would have noticed how badly it was shaking. Oh, God it hurt . . . I SO needed Tylenol. Or a vodka.  
  
Mmm . . . is there anything alcohol can't fix?  
  
Besides AA sufferers?  
  
Whatever.  
  
. . . Ick . . . something smelt funny.  
  
Of course, it was about then when I had to get all cocky with the face that I was vertical again, and I stood a little more heavily on my left foot. It twisted under the little weight I'd put on it, and I stumbled sideways. 'OW!'  
  
With a soft thud, I landed on the floor. Jesse, CeeCee, Adam, Father Dom made spontaneous movements towards me to help me up, but Jack was closest. I could have sworn that I saw Paul twitch, though. Oh well, my bad.  
  
I crawled back onto the cough with vexation. 'Okay,' I said cantankerously, 'Maybe not then.' I sniffed the air again. That weird smell was still there! 'God, what is that SMELL?' I asked in mild disgust.  
  
'Gilroy California, garlic capital of the world,' Paul enlightened me with an underlying anger in his tone.  
  
'Bite me,' I said to him. He clicked his teeth together with a demonic glint in his eyes. Then the next moment he stuck his snobby nose in the air.  
  
'Bite me, ha,' Adam said. 'Joy, I bet Dracula steers clear of this place. With the garlic and – '  
  
'Honey, we got the joke,' CeeCee patted is arm dotingly. Adam grinned down at her and tickled her side. I rolled my eyes, smiling a little. Then I noticed Jesse smirking at me.  
  
'Hey!' I snapped, 'I know that you are thinking very forcibly of No. 2 pencils at this very moment, stop it!'  
  
His galling smirk stretched wider across his face like a plague, but he coughed and looked elsewhere.  
  
Jerk.  
  
CeeCee and Adam and yeah, even Paul and Dani were looking at me strangely. 'Is that supposed to be kinky?' Dani wanted to know.  
  
'Ew!' was my response. And a dirty look to Paul, too. 'Shut her up, will you?'  
  
'Suze, don't be a –' he began, but Father Dom hacked a cough. We stopped arguing, and looked at him in surprize.  
  
'We must make a decision, now. All of us,' he added with a reproving look at me.  
  
Everyone murmured softly. I stayed silent. What decision? What? Were we going to do a Big Brother and evict two people out of the house? Oooh, goodie. Paul and Dani are up for nominations, and Jesse – the intruder, has been asked to leave the house.  
  
I, of course, am Head of Household. Ooh, does that mean I get that fancy HOH robe, too? I think I might like this gig.  
  
Happy day.  
  
'What is it we have to decide upon, Padre?' asked Jesse, moving forward with a feline elegance. His broad shoulders were on an angle, and he stood tall, regarding Father Dominic with a curious, twinkling dark gaze.  
  
Father Dom's snowy white hair caught a band of light that was peaking through the window. It was almost two o'clock now. MAN time had flown. Exploring had taken ages, it was just the whole near-death-experience that had happened fast. 'Well, we must determine whether we will be residing here. This school is clearly dangerous.'  
  
I stared at him. 'Well, of course we are,' I said, as if it were the only option.  
  
Jack protested instantly. 'But Suze, what if – '  
  
'Jack,' I snapped, 'Remember how I taught you to swim? Well . . . actually, I have no point to this story . . . ' I trailed off, but then barked doggedly, 'But I was right then and I'm right now. We're staying. Well, at least I am. If anyone else wants to take a hike, go then. I'm getting these ghosts out of this school. Capishe?'  
  
CeeCee nodded smilingly, and tugged Adam's sleeve, who shrugged good- humoredly. 'We're staying, Suze,' Cee corroborated with twinkling violet eyes. Adam shuffled closer to here in a very categorical manner.  
  
I felt a flush of warmth. They were backing me up. 'Thanks . . . ' I smiled.  
  
And that wasn't sarcasm, for a change.  
  
'Well, we figured we kind of owed you for the leg thing,' Adam shrugged.  
  
'Duh,' I said.  
  
Jack beamed from next to me, and sat down just by my legs. 'Me too,' he said loyally.  
  
I wasn't so chuffed about him staying on board . . . but that was only for his safety. He was too young for this. It was a wonder that Paul didn't say anything against the whole thing –  
  
Oh yeah. Paul doesn't give a shit about Jack. How could I forget?  
  
I cast a steely eye to Father Dom, who was giving me an intense gaze with his tired baby blues.  
  
'I don't think it's wise to leave you here, er, unsupervised,' Father Dom grumbled. I shot him a smutty look, but he continued, 'so I will indeed join you. But we must be careful,' he stressed. He didn't sound so pleased, but oh well. Holy people have to make sacrifices, right? Like, marriage, sex, shiny red cars, and sleeping in grimy motels when their former students gave them ultimatums.  
  
My stare flickered over to Jesse, who was also giving me a "FOOLISH EARTHLING!" kind of regard. 'You in?' I asked, managing to hold all personal grudges from my tone for a change. He stared, and then blinked, looking softer.  
  
'I . . . I shall stay.'  
  
I acquiesced appreciatively, then glared at Paul and Dani, and in a fake peppy voice, I bubbled, 'Well, we got our little package, we don't need you two, so please, continue to make out or whatever, on like, Neptune or something?  
  
Jack pulled a face. 'But Suze, he's my br – '  
  
'Idiotic oppressor? Yeah, noticed.'  
  
Paul was pissed. His hands dropped from Dani, and he stepped forward angrily. I had to say, he kind of made my breath catch for a second – a reflex from long ago that I hadn't gotten over – but I remembered that I wasn't sixteen anymore. 'I'm in,' he retorted at me heatedly.  
  
I smirked at him infuriatingly, and I saw his eyes flash. 'No, it's okay Paul,' I said in a mockery of compassion. 'We're already got a shifter. Moi.'  
  
'We have mediators, Father Dom and Jack. Father Dom's like a guru or something . . . CeeCee's out journalist. And Adam . . . well,' I said cluelessly, 'he's, um, bait.'  
  
'Yeah, I'm – hey!'  
  
Jack was now positively glaring.  
  
'So yeah, it was nice knowing you, Danielle. I hope you make lots of money walking down blocks in skimpy clothes. It sounds fascinating, really,' my voice sang cheerfully. I was getting one over Paul – of COURSE I was perky. 'Because Paul? You're not "in".'  
  
I actually witnessed his knuckles ball. Ha! Bring it on, you retarded Ally McBeal wannabe.  
  
He stepped right in front of me, so he was looking down at me – still lying attentively on the bench with Jack sitting against my thighs. It was, um, kind of intimidating. You know, with his shadow cast down upon me and all. I almost lost myself to a squeak, but I maintained this bizarre confidence that possessed me.  
  
But his face was just so . . . angry . . . 'Yes,' he growled, 'I am in.'  
  
'We don't need you.'  
  
'Yes you do.'  
  
'We don't – '  
  
'You're just too proud to say so.'  
  
'Paul, Susannah,' Father Dom regarded us both, 'please stop being childish. I would expect this behavior from my first graders, but certainly not from you adults.'  
  
I scoffed, ignoring Father Dominic. 'Guys? Do we need them?'  
  
Adam and CeeCee blushed and mumbled something incoherently which sounded suspiciously like "Nyeah-oh"  
  
Then, Jack piped up with an angry yes.  
  
Although, he wasn't the only one who said it. Oh, no. Father Dom, and of all peop – um, ghosts – JESSE.  
  
Father Dom fiddled with his glasses, then his collar, and then fixed me with a stare. 'Susannah, listen to him,' he presaged in a turbo-Gandalf mode, 'He's a lot more powerful than you are, and you know it. Stop being proud. This was always one of your biggest problems, believing yourself to be invincible. You are not.'  
  
I stared at him, aghast.  
  
He said that in front of EVERYONE. It was like him asking . . . I dunno, if my PERIOD was regular or something! I felt like – God, dying his HAIR blue or something! That traitor!  
  
And adding insult to injury, Paul smirked from above me, looking so smug that I wanted to badly to just punch what was apparently lurking fifty centimeters in front of me –  
  
His, um, stomach. Yeah.  
  
He said so only I could hear, 'Told you so.' A cruel, condescending smirk curved along his lips, and his eyes were cold and proclaiming of triumph.  
  
Damn him. DAMN THEM ALL.  
  
I looked away from him, now freakishly pissed. 'Screw you.' I then provided Father Dom with my snake eyes. And he was like, TOTALLY CALM! All wise and – and serene and STUFF!  
  
WHY IS THE WORLD AGAINST ME? WHY?  
  
'So, we're ALL staying,' I summarized darkly. I was NOT happy. 'Well, that's nice. One big happy, over-large family. You know, like one of those terrible families they feature on Dr. Phil sometimes? Okay . . . so yeah. Father D? Carry on?'  
  
Father Dom narrowed his eyes at me. Aaah, he DID notice that I'd said something a little different from "Father D." Muahaha. He deserved to have references to our new employer.  
  
'I . . . yes, sorry. We will officially be spending the nights here. I do not know if this is wise, but . . . well, Susannah believes it to be necessary, so we will give her the benefit of the doubt – '  
  
'Hey – '  
  
'We will, of course, cook food here. I believe that CeeCee was quite accomplished in her cooling classes, if I remember, so she and Adam could probably pull off something very pleasant for all of us. We will bring everything from the cars into here, and then CeeCee and Adam can start preparing something. I'm sure that we are all hungry.'  
  
'Starved,' Jack moaned sadly.  
  
I patted his back sympathetically, and Paul finally walked back to Dani. My breathing pattern returned to normal. What? He just . . . creeped me out, okay? I still wasn't immune to him yet. The way he made me feel, I mean. Like, you know, scared and threatened. Only, lately he was making me feel horribly inferior too. Which I was, but still.  
  
'I'll give you a hand,' Paul said.  
  
Yeah, to Dani.  
  
For me? He had another glare.  
  
'Bite me,' I said again. 'Yeah, nice. Leave the disabled person to tough it out with her damaged leg. Real nice, Slater.'  
  
'Pleasure's all mine,' he shot back, walking to Dani coolly. My blood boiled. That ass . . . he was gonna DIE someday!  
  
Well . . . er, yeah, I mean – um . . .  
  
Dani was shooing Paul out, giggling nastily at me. Her, I mean. Not him. Bah, God help him if suddenly decides he's homosexual, I swear. There will be hell to pay. Dani's hips swayed pretentiously as she walked out the front door with a stalkerish Paul following.  
  
Paging the Paul Fan Club, we have a sighting...  
  
'Did he like, do an Adam and Eve? Get a spare rib from him, and make a girl? They DESERVE each other! Because she is the snobbiest, cattiest little - God! And HIM! What's his dilemma? I wish they would both –'  
  
Father D looked like he was about to have a coronary. So it was a wise thing to do when Jack pulled a "scissors" and cut me off.  
  
'I'll help you, Suze,' Jack offered with the most adorable smile. Aww, I felt like pinching his cheeks, but I didn't. I sighed and thanked him.  
  
I couldn't believe he and Paul were from the same gene pool. Seriously...how could someone so thoughtful and kind come from a family with two neglectful parents and a snobby older brother on a huge ego trip? I know when I first met Jack that I had asked that same question. But that was when I thought Paul was hot summer-fling material. Ugh...  
  
Jesse lowered his gaze back to me, his dark eyes swirling with mysterious intentions. His top was still ripped at the bottom, and wasn't tucked into his tight pants anymore. The ripped, fraying edge fell gracefully over his belt. He actually looked more casual and modern like this. Hotter, even.  
  
God, make this HARDER, why don't you???  
  
'Jack,' he said in a low voice that seemed to cloud my head, 'You must carry your own things. I will assist Susannah.'  
  
I stood up very suddenly, which was INCREDIBLY STUPID on my part, because all of the blood that had gone from my foot when I had elevated it suddenly surged back down. 'It's fine,' I said suddenly, 'I can get it myself – OW.'  
  
And I toppled into Jesse's chest.  
  
Smooth move, Ex-lax.  
  
His hands caught me instinctively. I felt like someone had just shot both of my lungs. With a sharp inhale of dusty air, I ignored how warm Jesse – this ghost – felt, and I swallowed hard, looking up at him with huge eyes. His hands were each around my forearms tenderly, with a bit of my hair entwined between his fingers. He held me for about five seconds before I coughed and leant on his elbow to steady myself, before hopping pathetically to the wall. CeeCee and Adam were snickering at me. I shut my eyes, summoning patience, and opened them with a sigh. When I did, Jesse had dematerialized.  
  
'Rest your foot, you silly girl,' Father Dom tutted me. He helped me back to the bench. I was in a strop. 'Sit there and do not move, or heaven help us, you'll end up in a wheelchair.'  
  
I narrowed my eyes up at him. 'This sympathy thing? You need to work on it.'  
  
Jesse came walking through the door, telekinetically making several of my bags float in front of him. God . . . He couldn't actually materialize with physical things, so he had to do it manually. Or, well, you know. The levitating thing. He was showing off.  
  
'Dios, Susannah,' he exclaimed, 'Why is your baggage so heavy?'  
  
Father Dom, Jack and Cee and Adam all took the hint to go and get their stuff. NO! DON'T LEEEAVE ME!  
  
I blushed slightly. 'Shoes . . . and, well, stuff. Watch that blue one, it's got Doc's ghost stuff in it.' He very carefully made the suitcases settle down in the center of the room in an impeccably neat pile. 'God, Jesse,' I whispered, 'Just . . . stop it . . . '  
  
'Stop what, Susannah?'  
  
I didn't answer.  
  
'Where are you planning on sleeping?' he queried.  
  
'Gutter,' I said. 'Gotta love hygiene.'  
  
He smiled. Oi! Stop appreciating my SARCASM, twit! 'No idea. Bah, hopefully not something too many flights up. I seem to have a slight stair problem,' I gave my monstrosity of a foot a pointed glance.  
  
'Well, show me the way, Susannah,' he made my bags hover again, 'These are quite heavy.'  
  
'Jesse,' I said, feeling pained, 'stop being so . . .' I sighed at his confusion. 'Put them down.'  
  
'I am perfectly fine. We ghosts cannot pull muscles.'  
  
Remind me to die soon.  
  
I devastatingly remembered that dumbwaiter up. God, that had been hard. Under no normal circumstances would it have been possible. I'd just been so scared . . . I guess it had been adrenaline.  
  
Well, the bit before I had decided I was going to let go.  
  
God, I'm a loser . . .  
  
'I want to sleep,' I said tetchily, 'I am not a morning person, and I want rest.' I hobbled over to the stairway gingerly, wincing in pain as I knocked my foot against my other one. 'Okay, follow me, I'm gonna . . . um, choose a random bedroom.'  
  
Yeah right. I knew the room I wanted.  
  
I grimaced at each step, as sharp, acute pains bolted up my leg. 'This so, totally, majorly, horribly sucks . . . '  
  
Again, Jesse followed behind me to catch me if I fell. It seemed . . . like he was doing this in not just a physical way. Like he was saying that he'd be there to catch me, in every aspect.  
  
Could have done that five years ago, honey.  
  
I made it up to the first floor after a painstaking ascent.  
  
Then the second . . . then the third . . . Then finally, I reached the fourth floor. My stupid freaking foot was screeching in pain. I wanted to tell it to shut up, but . . .er . . . talking to my foot? Not so hot. 'It's a hard-knock life . . . for me,' I mumbled melodically.  
  
I looked around at all of the broken vases and fallen paintings and unsettled dust of the familiar passageway. I finally got to my room, the one I'd been in before with Jack.  
  
'Aaah, random room located.' It really was a beautiful, sophisticated room. But that wasn't the reason I wanted to stay here. 'Nice?'  
  
'It is a very nice room, Susannah,' Jesse said. He placed the baggage inside the door.  
  
'Yep, this room.' I was sure now. I wanted to be the one to find this ghost. Be the one to exorcise it. NOT Paul, NOT Jesse, NOT Father Dom. ME. I had to do this. I had to prove that I could do something right for once, prove that I wasn't a permanent screw up. Everything lately had been a big joke. And the laugh is on me.  
  
Ha ha. Oh how funny that isn't.  
  
I was going to get this ghost. It was in this room, somewhere. I'd find it, and I'd exorcise it. It didn't deserve to be heard out. It had tried to kill Jack, and was obviously not worth the time or energy of mediation. I could say that something had gone right, once it was gone. Something . . . anything. That I'd won.  
  
That would wipe the stupid trust-me-I'm-a-lawyer look of Paul's sycophantic face.  
  
'Jesse?' I said awkwardly.  
  
'Yes, Susannah?' he looked back to me, locking me in a gaze that I just couldn't tear away from. I coughed, and blinked, and he shook himself, realizing he was making me all freaked and stuff.  
  
'Um . . . you're still here,' I pointed out. 'I want to, er, sleep. You know, the snoring thing? Er, not that I snore. I mean, you'd know if I snored, so I don't have to tell you, because, you were there when I –'  
  
WHAT THE HELL DID I THINK I WAS DOING??? Maybe CeeCee was right about the crack thing. Someone must slip it to me in my sleep or sometihng.  
  
I turned away, 'Um, I mean – '  
  
Jesse stepped forward gallantly. 'I will watch over you if you – ' I squeaked at him, and his expression faded. 'Oh, I – never mind.'  
  
'Um, yeah . . . ' I shifted guiltily, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. It was totally dusty. Ugh. I yanked the top layer off that was burdened with caking dust, and then I place my own – a soft, warm one. I then slid between the folds, and my foot stopped yodeling in agony. Thank God.  
  
Jesse looked over to me, his dark eyes looking vague and um, kind of reckless looking . . . 'You may call me if you need anything, Susannah. Rest, now.'  
  
I smiled dryly. 'No rest for the wicked Jesse.'  
  
God, could this conversation get any more PLASTIC?  
  
Jesse waited a moment more, looking like he wanted to say something. But with a sigh, he dematerialized in a curl of azure shimmering.  
  
I sighed, and, without understanding a single damned thing I was doing, I just fell into a much needed slumber, my hair spread out on the pillow and my arm muscles aching from the strain of saving a life, and almost ending it.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
Whoa . . . talk about long chapters. They say size really doesn't matter, but we know you girls LOVE the long ones. Just can't get enough of 'em can you?  
  
Chapters, we mean.  
  
So for your viewing pleasure, we have created another incredibly large chapter. We hope you don't, like, hire Paul to sue us because of the length of it. We are aware of how long it takes to read because, well, when we edit we have to read it for ourselves. Thus Hayley might have to bump her glasses prescription up a notch while Lollykins takes her horse tranquilizers to get rid of the headaches.  
  
Okay, NICE LONG REVIEWS. LONG, LONG, LONG –  
  
Um . . . reviews.  
  
Love Lolly and Hayley.  
  
Btw . . . it's gonna get better. WAY. You'll see . . . 


	8. Marionette

For people who strangely enough, got two author alerts - something screwy happened with the chapter. So I had to change all of the single quotations to those accent things, so they wouldn't come out weird. Sorry!

And I hope, Hayley, that it was okay of me to update already . . . I read over the chapter - er, skimmed - and it seemed fine. -

So yeah.

Let's start off with a memory from Suze . . .

I could feel the cold air-conditioning blowing directly on me, causing my hair to float into my face. The smooth leather upholstery even felt a little cool beneath my fingers. I fluttered my eyes open and realized where I was. I was in Paul Slater's shiny silver BMW with the black leather interior . . . the top down and everything. "Sheer, driving pleasure", as they advertise it on the television.

Only instead of being totally nice, I was actually pretty uncomfortable, especially since not only was the air-conditioning on full blast, but the cool wind was blowing on me.

I chanced a look at the driver, suddenly regretting my actions when I saw his beautiful brown curls tainted with small bits of gold from the last bit of sunlight that shined on it. Paul's eyes were locked on the road with a friendly grin plastered on his face. And even though his gaze seemed never to leave the road, I still had that deep feeling in my gut that I was being watched.

Of course, I let my gaze linger a little too long, because then Paul turned his perfect face towards me, causing me to instantly flush. Crap . . . he caught me looking at him. I turned away quickly and pretended to be looking at some of the pine trees that grew along the Seventeen-mile drive.

'We're almost there,' Paul said as we were coasting down a small hill. I could see his reflection on my window, regarding me in what sounded like a casual manner, but telling by the expression on his face, it was anything but. When I didn't respond, he added, 'There's this really nice spot I have to show you.'

I choked on my own spit. He had a nice spot to show me. I surely hoped that it wasn't the back seat of his car or anything. Knowing Paul's nature, I really wouldn't be surprised if he tried to pull that over on me. Well, too bad. I knew I was smarter than that.

'Really?' I asked him, my voice dripping in sarcasm.

'Yes,' he replied, keeping the road in his peripheral vision while watching me, 'it's got the best view.'

Best view . . . of what? Your mouth?

I kept my thoughts to myself, trying to fight them back. Paul had once said that I was cynical and mistrustful of others. I may be a little sarcastic at times, and I tend to be a little guarded around people, but that's just me being careful. I never knew when I was going to have to face another deadly ghost or a stunningly hot stalker or something like that. It's called being cautious.

Of course, normally being cautious with someone does not involve getting into cars with them and agreeing to let them take you to "nice spots". You're probably thinking that if I were truly being careful, that I would be in my room right now, watching a sappy romance flick while eating a pint of Ben & Jerry's, wearing my most comfortable pajamas. That's what most girls do when they've been dumped big time.

But who's to say I'm a normal girl? I do things my way, thank-you-very-much.

And as further proof of my abnormal tendencies, I started babbling again, like I always did when I was nervous. 'Views are good,' I said all too quickly. 'I like views. They, um, show lots of . . . stuff. Yeah, stuff.'

As stupid ramblings pushed out of my mouth, I couldn't help but blush. I mean, I shouldn't care if Paul thought I was a blubbering idiot. But for some reason, I felt completely embarrassed. No girl, normal or abnormal, wants to have a case of verbal diarrhea in from of a cute guy . . . no matter how much she despises him.

I completely turned my attention towards the pine trees, trying to see if I could see any deer between them. I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the ride there, praising the Lord that Paul didn't say much else. There's only so much a girl can handle you know? Embarrassment AND fearing for my life? Not such a good combo there.

Paul pulled into this little stopping point on the side of the road, pulling into a small parking space. He slid out of the car first, wandering over to my side to open the door for me. I hesitated for a few moments, and then got out of the car. 'Here we are,' he grinned as he shut the door behind me. I cringed a little, not because he slammed it or anything, but only because the noise seemed so . . . condemning.

Susie's sold her soul . . . things are looking hot now.

'Well,' I said cooly, leaning against the door he just shut, 'where's the infamous view you speak of?'

'Take my hand.'

' . . . What?' I let out in a quick, high-pitched squeak. There was no way in heck I was taking that guy's hand. Cooties went out in the third grade, but even still, I felt repulsed at the mere thought of letting his skin come in contact with my own flesh. It was just wrong in so many ways.

Plus I was afraid that if I did touch him, feelings that I tried not to feel would come bubbling back up. My soul had already been broken enough as it was, and I certainly did not need to go fling myself on some other guy, only to have him do the same thing. After what Jesse had done just a few nights before . . . no. I couldn't do that.

'I'll show you,' he replied simply, 'if you'd only take my hand.'

He held his large hand out, and I just stared at it for a moment as if it were a foreign object. It just looked so big and masculine, you know? Like if I were to give him my hand, that he could just break it in one swift motion. I wouldn't be surprised at all.

I noticed, despite the fear welling up in my heart, that the palm of his hand was a creamy white compared to the rest of his arm, which was light mocha. I looked at his hand curiously for a second, noticing a few other things about it. Like how he had no life line.

In my observations (not that I had observed too much or anything), Paul was left-handed. Thus, he offered me his left hand to hold. And since I am a completely paranoid freak, I just had to sit there and stare at it dumbly. Long enough to start reading his palm.

Now, I'm not very good at palmistry or anything, but life lines determine the quality of someone's life, not the length of it or anything. But I have no idea what happens to those who don't have one. Does that mean that their life is nothing? How could that be true? Paul has everything he could possibly want. Fancy car, good looks, loads of cash, and he even had the brains. So why wasn't his life line, like, wrapped around his hand a few times or something?

Paul cleared his throat, forcing me to draw my attention away from his hand, and into his steely blue eyes. Now I was pretty sure that I turned a deep shade of crimson then. Finally, after making enough of a fool of myself, I took his unusually pale life-lineless hand.

I'm sorry to say that when his fingers encompassed my hand that I felt a certain fire-and-ice sensation. My blood had drained mostly to my face, so the rest of my body was chilly, while my face and my hand in Paul's was very warm. I'd even go as far as to say hot. But not in a good way. At least . . . I didn't think so.

He led me up this small path. I would have worn tennis shoes or something if I had known that Paul was going to take me on a nature hike. Seriously, the trail was long, narrow, and mostly uphill. The path, you could tell, wasn't used all that often. In some parts, Paul had to break off some branches or hold them back for me with his free hand just so I wouldn't get scratched.

The more we walked, the more nervous I became. The trail just kept getting steeper and steeper, making it really hard to climb up in sandals. I was beginning to wonder why I even came in the first place. We weren't doing another shifting lesson, there was no school project, no reason at all for me to be there. So why?

Deep down, though I hated to admit it, I knew the answer was as clear as the cloudless sky above our heads. I didn't even have to search for it in the piney woods. The reason I was here was because of Jesse.

The only reason I ever saw Paul was because of Jesse.

But now, this was a totally different situation.

'I hope you're not afraid of heights,' came Paul's voice from in front of me. Kind of startled that he dared to interrupt my messed up train of thought, I replied a snippy, 'No, I'm not afraid of anything.'

He turned his head and gave me a smirk. A kind of smirk that said, "oh . . . right." You know the kind.

'Well,' I added, 'Not many things. Heights are okay with me. I jumped from a three-story house back in New York once, chasing after a ghost. But I wasn't scared. A little . . . no, I wasn't scared. Like, I don't specifically like bugs, but I'm not, you know, scared of them and I think that I'm perfectly within my right to not like bugs because they are small and evil and gross and black and they make a huge mess when you squish them –'

I saw that he was laughing. I gave him a crusty look, and I just shut up.

That was when he brushed aside a huge branch, and oh my God . . .

'Wow,' I gasped. The - the sunset! It was beautiful! Oh my God! It was a small paved area with railing that looked out over the whole of the Pacific Ocean. I ran over to the rail, with my eyes devouring the glorious ocean that crashed below, reflecting the radiance of the sinking sun. I'd never known this little place was here! It was the best view I'd seen in my entire life. Everything was perfect. Well, except the fact that it was Paul with me, and not Jesse.

And it would never be Jesse again . . .

Paul calmly climbed over the railing to sit on the edge, and turned his head idly back to look at me expectantly. Oh, bite your tongue Suze . . . but his features were kissed by the sunset, with his face divided into realms of light and shadow. His pale blue eyes in particular twinkled at me, mirroring the dazzle of the luminary and thawing the ice that held his irises captive. 'Well?' he asked, his voice in a shouted whisper over the rhythmic crashing of water so many feet below, 'Coming?'

I blinked at him, and swallowed. 'Promise you won't push me?'

God, I'm a loser.

He grinned. 'I promise.'

No sarcasm. He didn't say anything that didn't need to be said, for once. Just told me what I needed to hear. I nodded, and carefully climbed over the railing, sitting on it carefully, and not realizing how close I had actually seated myself to him. He was grinning at me still.

I looked out at the water. 'Wow,' I cherished, 'Look at the spray . . . and the reflections of the sun. It's blinding. Hey, it's just about to set,' I said in admiration, turning shining eyes back to Paul. What? I like sunsets, so sue me? He was still smirking at me. I could see myself in his eyes. With a warm smile, I looked back to the water.

This was what Carmel had to offer. Such rich, natural beauty. Gotta love home.

'I love the sunset. It's so . . . orange. Well, not just orange. There's heaps of other colours and stuff, but it's mainly orange. I love how the ocean goes orange too. As in a reflection. Like a mirror. Beautiful . . . ' I trailed off.

The sun was dying fast. It was but a semi-circle on the oceanic horizon now. Dull rays painted the sky, but were fast dimming. The whole ocean was cast in a warm orange glow, and the reflective surface merged from a brilliant orange to a cerulean blue as the water distanced from the sun.

I could feel Paul's grin as if it were burning a hole in the side of my face. 'What?' I demanded without looking at him. 'What's funny?'

'Nothing,' he shrugged. I knew. I was sitting so close that I could feel the movement of his arm brush on my shoulder. In a different . . . breathier tone, he added, 'just marveling the beauty.'

Weird . . . he wasn't even looking at the sun.

'Yeah,' I said nervously, trying to keep my gaze towards the sunset, 'Sunsets rock. They should have one everyday.'

Paul looked puzzled for a few moments and then started laughing. It took me a while to understand why he'd be laughing at little old me. I'm not THAT funny. Of course, looking back at what I said, I sounded like a total ditz. I laughed uncomfortably, trying to make it seem as if I'd meant to say it. Paul didn't seem to buy it though.

'There it goes,' Paul said, thankfully changing the subject. He pointed to the orange sun, surrounded by magnificent pinks and purples. I felt so small and insignificant with the tall pine trees behind me, the giant sun ahead, and the great waters below. That launched some major universe anxiety. You know, endless galaxies, little me all alone in the world.

Only . . . I wasn't alone. I was with Paul Slater.

Don't remind me.

'It's almost all the way down,' he said softly, leaning towards me as he talked. I swallowed as his fingertips lightly brushed my hand. I forced myself to keep facing the sunset. But pretending to ignore Paul's advance didn't make it go away. In fact, I could feel my face heat up all over again as the electricity from his touch shocked my every nerve.

'It moves so fast, doesn't it?' I observed, swallowing once more for good measure. 'It's so beautiful while it lasts. But then it sinks to the horizon so quickly in its last few moments. It's like you can't blink or you'll miss it, you know?'

'I know what you mean. You kind of hope that it . . . never ends,' Paul said, his voice dropping low as he spoke the last two words. I could understand what he was saying, but I was not entirely sure that he was talking about sunsets anymore.

If you know what I mean.

I was just starting to get caught up in this blissful, surreal world. That is, until I woke up.

Yeah. I'd been dreaming. Isn't that so like me? God . . . I dreamed about the past every night of my life. Trying so desperately to change it. They were reoccurring dreams. I'd done a whole section on them in Psyche, and yet I still didn't understand my own. Except, in my dreams about Paul, I always manage to do something differently. Here . . . it was exactly like how it had happened. Every memory, every movement, every smile, every touch . . .

Perfect.

I didn't WANT it to be perfect! What, seeing Paul again in the flesh could do something like that to me? Make me relive some of my most mortifying memories, without me having any control over what I saw? Because, if I could have had my way, I would have kicked a little more butt than I did, you know? Hell . . . if I could go back in time, I would have never even GONE. Because if I had have just stayed home, none of this stuff would have even happened.

But whatever.

I was caught in that land that existed between asleep and awake. Where the haunting aftermath of dreams still linger in your mind as your brain whirls, trying to figure it all out for you. I could never figure anything out. I didn't know why I still dreamed about all this stuff. The memories of Paul taking me to Big Sur, I mean. And Jesse breaking up with me. What? Was it a SIGN? Or just, you know, annoying me so much as to make me see some of the worst moments of my life?

Or the ones that weren't so bad, but you WISHED they were?

What? Hey, I never said I wasn't complicated.

But this lingering dream slowly faded as I realized that, I indeed had to get up. Grumpiness started taking over as I blinked blearily, feeling comfortably warm. I didn't really want to move, in fear of making the sensation of warmth leave. I hadn't been truly warm for a long time. I still wasn't here. But it was a start. I wasn't cold. I was usually always cold . . .

I frowned, my lip pouting tiredly, and sought the time from my digital watch. Oh, splendid. It was seven o'clock p.m. What? I couldn't even sleep through the NIGHT now? Oh, that's just GREAT.

Mind, I did go to sleep at three, but . . . aww, shut up.

Feeling exceptionally annoyed, but not knowing at whom just yet - don't worry, I'll pinpoint blame as soon as I'm awake enough to remember my last name - I slumped out of the bed –

OW.

Oh yeah . . . my leg.

Actually, it wasn't hurting nearly as much as before. Not even now when I was vertical. Nup, in fact, it looked like it was almost healed. What can I say? Us shifters heal very fast. Impossibly so. But whatever.

I managed to catch my reflection in the mirror. My green mini-pocket polo shirt and skirt no longer sported the puddle of drool, but they were both pretty wrinkled from sleeping in them for about four hours. Plus, who would want to wear clothes with drool residue on them, even if it was dry enough not to notice? So I changed into some five-pocket Mudd jeans and a black Lycra top. Not as fashionable as it should have been, but it was flattering, and convenient. That's all I cared about. So yeah.

My stomach let out a terrible cry for help when I suddenly smelt the enticing aroma of food. I really didn't have a chance to eat much of a breakfast, and as a group we were all too busy looking around the school to squeeze in lunch. So, as you could see, I was pretty starved.

So I limped a little out of my room, stopping for a brief chilling moment when I crossed the dumbwaiter, a feeling seizing me suddenly. It felt as if someone had a tight death grip on all of my insides. The feeling left as soon as it had come, leaving me in a blinding confusion.

I wasn't scared, really. I just wanted to find that ghost. And I had a strange feeling that my choice of room would bring me closer to it. Maybe even a little too close.

I shook it off and continued out of the room and down the flights of stairs. So it took ten minutes or so . . . but at least I could still get around. That's all that mattered, right? The fact that I wasn't completely and totally useless cheered me up a bit.

Then as I approached the last step to food-freedom, my ankle buckled under me. Luckily, I was able to sturdy myself on the cold metal stair railing. I looked over my shoulder self-consciously and continued hobbling my way into the grand entranceway.

It was dark in there . . . the chandelier hanging above me in all of its sparkling glory. The crystal of it still shined, even though no light was hitting it. I searched the room for a familiar face, sniffing to see where the sweet aroma was coming from.

'Hello? Anyone home?' I asked, my voice echoing back to me in the emptiness. I looked around for someone, anyone. But the room was dark and empty as before. Only, now as I was looking at it again, it became scary to a point. Frightening because not only was I all by myself, but I was alone and with a handicap. No one to help me . . .

Isn't that how it always was?

'I take that as a no,' I replied to myself sadly. The darkness was all consuming, and the paintings and portraits seemed to give off that "you are being watched" vibe.

'You're never alone,' I heard a deep voice calling from the top of the staircase. 'You'll never be alone.'

I whipped around and saw that the voice was coming from none other than Paul Slater himself. He smiled down at me darkly as he descended the steps slowly, one by one. The tap of his shoes on the stairs made a small echo with each step he took. My heart began to pound with a heavy thud in my chest.

'What is that supposed to mean?' I asked him, swallowing hard as he finally took the last step down.

He smiled at me. 'To answer your first question, yes. Someone is home. And to answer your second . . . well, just think about it. For twenty-three years, have you ever had a moment to yourself? Without ghosts chasing you around?'

'Sure I have. It's called shower time,' I reminded him snappily. Paul shook his head at me, a bit of his hair falling in his face. He brushed it back casually, looking like one of those GQ models. You know, "Look sharp, Live smart"?

He replied with a sly grin, 'But are you sure you're really alone?'

I swear, if I hadn't been so tired and hungry, I would have marched up to him and smacked him across his perfect little cheek. How dare he insinuate that I would EVER let ghosts perv on me in the shower! Well, now that I think about it, I shouldn't be surprised, you know, considering the types of ghosts I got stuck with. It creeped me out just to think that all the times I THOUGHT I was alone, I may not have been. I heaved a shudder and tried to brush his comment off, saying, 'Whatever. I smell food.'

I know, totally lame. But despite Paul's attempts to scare the beejeezus out of me, and the creepiness of the dark grand entrance room, all I could manage to think about was the food. I could smell the aroma of cooked meat. It danced around my head, making my mouth water, my stomach growl, and my nose tingle with its delightful scent. I needed food. I was going to get food. I had to have some food. NOW.

'CeeCee and Adam may not share our supernatural abilities, Suze, but let me tell you, they work magic in the kitchen,' Paul said with a moony sigh.

'Well, then, don't just stand there, show me. Unless you want me to die of starvation,' I said, a bit on the rude side. You know, Paul had been plenty rude to me in the past. Well, except for that one time when he said he'd always be there for me. And, you know, that time he offered to drop all of his plans for me-

Well . . . other than that, he's a jerk MAJOR.

He looked down at my injured leg and then looked back up at me, holding his arm out elegantly, 'Allow me to escort you to our fine dining establishment, ma'am.'

The way he said "ma'am" sent a tickling sensation to my ears. You gotta hand it to him, the man knows how to be smooth.

Only, when I went to grab his arm, he casually moved it away and instead walked ahead of me, barely waiting up for me in my poor crippled state.

See? Rude, I tell you, RUDE.

I struggled to keep up with him, but let me tell you, the man was fast on his feet. I envied him as he glided down the hallway with no effort, while I was barely stumbling along. It didn't hurt much or anything; it just felt weird to walk on. The cloth from Jesse's shirt was a bit too tight, thus cutting off my circulation and making my foot go numb. It didn't even feel like I had a foot or anything.

So you could see why I was totally ticked at Paul. I mean, he didn't even offer to help me out, and it seemed as if he were doing all of these things just to annoy me. Or to creep me out, whichever came first.

'Paul?' I asked, not even bothering to make my tone light. 'Why on earth are you staying here? Why can't you just, I don't know, LEAVE?'

'Why can't YOU? You seem to be the only one that has a problem with this arrangement,' Paul pointed out casually, still moving along at his insanely speedy pace.

I was kind of shocked. I mean, after all the stuff I did to him, he didn't care? My being here didn't affect him as his sudden appearance back into my life had? What was wrong with me?

'YOU have a fancy car, a gorgeous lake house, and a British supermodel for a girlfriend. YOU have no reason to be here,' I sniped.

He turned around quite suddenly, making me almost stumble on him and land into his chest. But luckily, I caught myself by leaning against the wall.

'Oh, like you do.'

Ouch. Seriously, those words hit me right where it hurt. It oozed with his cocky confidence that seemed to taunt me with "I'm better than you are, nannie-nannie boo-boo, stick your head in doo-doo". Well, guess what? My head was in the biggest pile of shit around.

'Y-you're not needed,' I stuttered, trying to choke down any tears that might have been trying to escape my eyes. I vowed a long time ago, that nothing anyone, even Paul Slater, would ever affect me like that and make me cry. But it just felt as if Paul was dragging me by my hair through this bed of hot coals, leaving me painfully burned and feeling terribly low. All over again.

'Well, actually,' Paul pointed out as he looked down at me, 'You heard them. They said they did.'

'They were just being nice. I'm not,' I said. I placed my hands on my hips and leaned on my good leg, looking up at him with the most intimidating look I could manage. It was hard to do, considering we were so close that if I moved my head too much, I might accidentally hit his nose. Hilarious as that may have been, I didn't want break his nose (again). I just wanted him to feel as small as I did right then . . . dust on his high-dollar classy shoes.

'Your ability, though ultimately as strong as mine, is untapped,' Paul replied cooly, breezing by my intimidation tactics as if they were a footnote. 'And besides, if I go, Dani goes too.'

'Puh-lease,' I drawled sarcastically, 'what on earth can DANI do? Blow kisses at the ghostie? Like that'll do us any good.'

'She happens to be a great mediator, Suze,' Paul said rather defensively.

I laughed. 'My mistake, then. As much as I'd LOVE to chat about the inability - er, I mean, ability - of your girlfriend, I must cut this discussion short. I'm starving.'

'Fine,' Paul growled as he pivoted sharply. The wind that his turn produced blew a little of my hair into my mouth. I brushed it aside and continued to follow him until we came upon these huge elaborate French-style doors.

'Well,' Paul said as he put his hand on the large curvy doorknob, 'here we are, hop-along.'

I sneered at him. Was that supposed to be cute or something?

'Hop-along? Hah. The only thing I'm going to hop along is your-'

But before I got to finish, Paul opened the doors to the huge dining hall. And by huge, I really mean GIGANTIC. There were several long tables with dusty untouched chairs. The décor was brighter, simpler, and a little plain in comparison to the rest of the rooms in the place. The walls were a pale blue color that clashed a bit with the wooden tables, but that only added to its simplistic beauty.

CeeCee, Adam, Father Dom, Dani, and Jack were all seated at the second table, sitting closest to the end. They were chitchatting while eating their food appreciatively. Jack lifted his head and caught my eye, throwing me a smile.

'Suze!' Jack called happily, 'Come here and sit next to me! I saved you a seat.'

'Whoa there. Hey to you too, little bud,' I replied giving him a short wave. I didn't move from my spot though. I was just a bit overwhelmed by the enormity of the dining hall. Every word - every movement - echoed loudly. It was a wonder, really, how engulfing it was. It seemed near impossible to be able to fill the room up, even if there were thousands of people in it. Which was just what the room was built for. To fit two thousand loud, obnoxious boys all from the ages of fourteen to eighteen, all of them whiny little rich snobs. Paul would've fit in just nicely here.

'Nice of you to join us,' Dani joked as she patted the empty chair between her and Jack. 'CeeCee has really outdone herself with the filet mignon. It's delicious.'

As I went to go sit next to her reluctantly, Paul breezed right on past me, knocking my shoulder a bit as his passed, and took the seat. I realized that Dani had been joking to him and not to me. It was Paul who she had wanted to sit next to her. She wasn't even acknowledging my presence.

Oh well, all the more reason to hate her guts.

Jack pouted. 'Pa-aul, Suze was going to sit there. Go sit next to Father Dom or something.'

'Sorry, little guy,' Paul said to Jack as he made a big production of kissing Dani on the cheek.

'Thanks, Jack, but I'm good,' I said as I half-smiled at Jack. Then I turned my evil death glare at Paul while I took a seat in between Father Dominic and CeeCee.

Seriously . . . what was Paul's damage? He's moved on. I don't see why he has to start acting all hostile and bitter towards me. He's no longer trapped in memory lane as I am. So why was he torturing me? Dangling what I missed out on right in front of my face, pulling it away as I finally reach for it. Again and again.

Um . . .

I changed the subject by looking at the giant plate of food that Adam set in front of me. 'Mmm,' I said in delight, 'it sure smells nice.'

I tried not to let my vision stray away form my food as I wondered where to start first. The steak? The baked potato? The weird pasta stuff on the side?

Just then, a slight shimmer caught my eye and I looked up to see that Jesse had materialized right behind Jack, who looked up at him with a smile. 'Hey Jesse,' Jack said cheerfully, 'Do you want some?' Jack realized what he just asked and frowned. 'Oh, yeah, sorry Jesse . . . ' he trailed off sadly.

I looked at Jesse uncomfortably. Paul grinned and said with a disgusting amount of fake sympathy, 'Yeah. It's too bad you can't enjoy this with us, JESSE.'

Jack and Jesse both shot Paul dirty looks. Jesse was Jack's best friend . . . no way he'd let Paul say stuff like that. And as for Jesse . . . it was bad enough that he was stuck in this Limbo between Earth and the heavens, but to constantly have to be reminded of it in a not so polite way? Well, you can imagine that would make him pissed.

And me too. Not because it was Jesse or anything. God, no. It's just . . . well, there is a fine line between a little humor and plain old rudeness. And Paul saw the line, deliberately jumping over it as if someone dared him to.

'Paul,' I said his name warningly, 'Shut up, okay?'

Father Dom, noticing the tension at the dinner table, swiftly changed the subject. 'Well, how is your ankle, Susannah? Is it doing better?'

'Um, better?' I asked uncertainly, a little embarrassed to be put on the spotlight. 'Yeah, yeah, I'm much better.'

'Though she does a bit of hobbling, she gets around just fine,' Paul remarked, looking at me with a dead-on look. It was almost as if to say, "I've got you now", only a little less creepy. But not by much.

I felt the gaze of everyone on me. Jesse's seemed especially heavy, weighted with concern. It probably wasn't for me, though. He was probably worried that I might cause some huge riot. Hell knows I can't do anything without causing some sort of trouble.

So, in order to save myself from doing something stupid, I had to deflect everyone's burning glares. So I cut a huge piece of steak and shoved it into my mouth.

'Mmm,' I said, my mouth full of partly chewed steak, 'This is GREAT. Um, what is it again?'

Adam's jaw dropped, and he provided us with a lovely view of the inside of his mouth. Which was, specifically, masticated cow.

'What?' I asked as I managed to smile. It was really hard to do with all that steak in my mouth. 'Can't a girl eat in peace around here? I'm starving.'

'Well, THAT'S apparent,' Dani scoffed, turning her nose up snobbishly.

'It's filet mignon, Suze,' CeeCee replied with a grin. 'You know, a type of steak?'

'Duh,' I said. Oh great. She thought I didn't know what it actually was. I wasn't THAT blond. I mean, just because Dani was dumb, CeeCee shouldn't be stereotyping, you know? But what about this weird pasta stuff on the side? What's that? It's good.'

'I cooked that,' Adam pronounced proudly. 'It's angel-hair pasta with a touch of Alfredo. My specialty.'

Paul twirled some of the pasta onto his fork, raising it to his lips and taking a slow, drawn out bite. He glanced sideways at Jesse, trying everything in his power not to laugh as he took more pronounced bites of his food. Then, as Jesse glared at him, he asked quite snappily, 'Do you mind, Jesse? I'm trying to eat here.'

'By all means, please continue,' Jesse growled, gripping Jack's chair tightly until his fingertips turned white. The same shade of white, I noticed, as the scar on his eyebrow.

'So,' CeeCee said conversationally, 'how are we going to deal with this ghost?'

'Oh! Can we do some ghost hunting tonight?' Adam asked with a glint in his eye.

'I don't know,' I replied, looking at my fellow housemates cautiously. 'He might try to hurt us.'

'He?' Dani queried cynically. 'So you're aquainted with this ghost already?'

I froze. I wasn't supposed to let that slip. I was the only one, besides Jack who heard the laughs too, to know that. And now that it was out, Paul had a good chance of finding the ghost . . . BEFORE I did.

Well, not just Paul. Other people could find it too, he was just the one that-

Oh, why do I bother?

'Does he inhabit your room by any chance?' Paul asked, glancing pointedly at Jesse.

Ergo my continued glaring. Paul was really, really pushing it . . . why the HELL was he being such an anus, anyway? I mean, he was really enjoying this. Then again, he always enjoyed rubbing it in Jesse's face that he, Paul Slater, had a pulse and a place to live.

'No, he doesn't live in my room,' I sneered at Paul. Then I glared back at Dani, saying cooly, 'I haven't even seen him yet. But earlier Jack and I heard him laughing. You know, when the ghost tried to kill Jack. No, wait. You WOULDN'T know. You were too busy sucking face with Paulie to know.'

Dani scowled at me unattractively. I turned to CeeCee and Adam and apologized sarcastically, 'Gee CeeCee, Adam. I'm so sorry for ruining your dinner. I guess it's not such a pleasant visual after all.'

Paul ignored me. Instead, his eyebrows were hiked in concern as he glanced at Jack, who was stabbing at his food with his fork. Jesse's face softened as he too looked at Jack protectively.

Jack really lucked out. This whole mediator thing got him two brothers. All it ever gave me was two jealous lovers, and a whole mess of trouble.

'The ghost tried to kill Jack?' Paul wanted to know.

'It was nothing really,' Jack replied, as a small grin crept on his face; proud that his older brother was finally interested in something HE had to say. 'I was just checking out the dumbwaiter. It was looking pretty suspicious,' Jack continued his story - purposefully leaving the part where I told him NOT to go in there in the first place - with coolness. 'And then the door slammed on me. It was pretty dark in there, but I thought everything was going to be okay. But then the ghost snipped the cord. Luckily, Suze here-' he paused for a moment, beaming at me, 'caught it and pulled me up to safety. She's really strong.'

'You're okay, then?' Paul asked. He gripped his younger brother's shoulder with his hand firmly, almost as if to make sure Jack was still in one piece, and that it wasn't an illusion or something.

'I'm good,' Jack said, smiling at Paul fondly, 'but Suze pulled a muscle in her-'

'Jack, as fascinating as that is, you need to eat something. Wouldn't want you to whither away or anything. So eat.'

'-shoulder.'

I slumped in my chair a bit. I've said it before but this completely sucked. I mean, when I'm not facing complete embarrassment, I'm nearly killing innocent thirteen year olds and getting my heart ripped to shreds all over again. This wasn't the life I was expecting when I was seventeen, let me tell ya that.

"Why are you so grumpy?" Jack asked me, leaning forward in his chair a bit, confusion evident on his features. Adam snorted while he shook his head. "You'll learn to get used to it, Jack. After a few years."

I laughed uncomfortably with everyone else until the laughter died. I shifted about in my seat, looking around the table for something, anything, to possibly change the subject.

CeeCee was giggling at something Adam had whispered in her ear, while Father Dominic looked on at them warningly. Jesse continued to watch Jack eat, just as he was doing before. I didn't really want to look at Paul . . .

When I caught a glimpse at Danielle, the perfect subject came to mind . . .

'What about the bathrooms?' I asked, a small grin creeping on my face. 'Has anyone checked them out yet?'

Dani gave me a snobby look. 'Yes, they are satisfactory - '

Adam grinned teasingly at here. 'She means, yes, they flush, no, they are not outside, and yes, the water is hot.'

CeeCee looked at him sideways as she curled some angel hair pasta around a fork, before carefully sliding it off the fork with her teeth. Dani forced out a hyena-wannabe laugh to Adam, but didn't say anything else.

Well, that was a relief. I mean, if I had to take a cold shower in a dirty bathroom, I would have an anaphylaxis. It seemed that Dani felt the same was as I did. Which was fair enough. I mean, it would totally suck to stand under dusty, chilled water. Suck in a major way.

I hadn't given this house enough credit. I would have thought that it had no electricity or anything. But nup, it was all cool. I mean, 1969 wasn't that long ago, huh?

Father Dom cleared his throat and regarded Paul. 'So, our friend Mr Head had no trouble signing?'

Paul grumbled.

'Huh?'

Father Dom turned his head. His snowy hair reflected whitely in the dim light. 'Well, you see-'

But before Father Dominic could say anything, Paul interjected. 'Father Dominic and I drafted a strict contract of confidentiality for Mr. Head to sign.'

Adam stared at Paul dumbly and said, 'In English, please?'

Paul glanced at Adam for a moment and then refocused his gaze on me. 'Basically, we typed up a contract that said we would work for Mr. Head if he agreed to not tell anyone about us. The SIA.'

I looked at Father Dominic unsuredly. I mean, sure people could know about the SIA. How else would we make money? I just really didn't want them to know that I was a part of it yet. The world is a harsh place . . . who knows what people would think of a few youngsters and an old priest who claimed that they saw dead people?

They'd send us to the loony bin faster than you can say "Sixth-Sense".

'Did he sign it, then?' I asked. 'I mean, of course he had to sign it, or we wouldn't still be here, right?'

Father Dominic said, 'That is what I'd like to know. He seemed a little hesitant.'

'Everything is settled. We have nothing to worry about,' Paul assured us with a confident air. 'It may have taken a little . . . persuasion, but he finally signed it.'

'Persuasion?' I asked with an arched eyebrow. Jesse looked at him suspiciously also. Obviously, he was intrigued with Paul's definition of "persuasion." Weren't we all?

Paul gave me a very faint grin, but didn't answer. I felt a very small chill, like many soft fingers brushing over my bare skin. I didn't ask again, but returned to my steak.

'So, um . . . did anytihng else happen while I was napping?' I asked after a slight pause in the conversation.

'Well,' Jack piped up, 'we unpacked our stuff, Paul went off to talk to Mr.Head, CeeCee and Adam started dinner, and I played cards with Dani and Jesse. Jesse's really good at Poker.'

Jesse smiled at Jack softly. 'I think she meant if anything out of the ordinary happened, Jack. Nothing else, in that respect, happened.'

'Oh,' I said. 'So . . . um, no . . . '

'No what, Susannah?' asked Jesse wryly.

I didn't want to answer. "Disembodied laughing" sounded too weird.

I shrugged. 'Yeah, you know . . . ghost stuff.'

Paul gave me a cool look. 'Well, apart from Jesse here, nothing much.'

Jack glared.

Father Dom cleared his throat. 'I'd like to speak of some rules, if you wouldn't mind.' Jesse stopped giving Paul the I-hope-you-choke look. Which was just as well, because I strangely enough, I wasn't in the mood for carnage. Even if it was of the kicking-Paul's-ass variety. But whatever.

I looked over to the old priest as well. He was looking at me particular, which I found kind of insulting.

'Firstly, I wish to specifically say that no exorcisms will be tolerated,' he said sharply to me. I cold almost feel Paul's complacent smirk, and suddenly I wasn't so against the whole ass-kicking thing. 'Exorcism should always be treated as a last resort. Nothing more. It is simply there if nothing else works.'

I blinked innocently at him, but he wasn't buying it.

'Susannah,' he said to me, 'I know that in the past, you have been inclined to use this when ghosts, er . . . vex you.' Something almost like humor flickered though his eyes so fast, I wasn't sure if it was there. Probably not. 'But this is not acceptable here. These ghosts deserve every, and if the SIA is to build up a good reputation - '

'Father Dominic,' I said in pretend shock, 'I'm appalled that you'd think I would be so flippant with - '

'Don't give me that,' he said tiredly. 'I am perfectly serious.'

Obviously. I don't think that wrinkles can look more intimidating, pops.

'Fine,' I scoffed as I folded my arms, 'no exorcisms. What else?'

'Secondly, we must address how we are to explore this house. I have already stressed the importance of staying together. No one - and I really mean no one - will ever explore this place on their own. You must be accompanied by at least one other person-'

'Living or dead?' Paul asked, throwing an amused look at me.

'Shut up and let the man continue.'

'Yes, if you wish to take Jesse along with you, you may,' Father Dominic replied as he looked at me. HELLO! I never asked if I could raom about with Jesse. Why was everyone looking at me? I shot the old man a dirty look.

'Anyway,' Father Dominic continued, 'we've already established one meeting place. If you, for any reason, get separated from your partner, you must report to the main entranceway immediately.'

Okay, this was easy enough. Sure, the whole buddy thing was a pain in the butt, but no one HAD to know I was exploring. I could say I was looking for a bathroom. Or maybe I could explore at night, when no one else is awake. I could easily bend Father Dominic's rules.

I mean, rules were made to be broken, right?

Father Dominic gathered his thoughts a bit and then proceeded, 'If, by chance, you happen to see, hear, or sense something out of the ordinary, you MUST come to me right away.'

Right away? Psssh, fat chance THAT was happening. I don't care if the SIA is a group that works together to smite evil ghosts. I'm still Susannah Simon. I can do all of this on my own.

I just wouldn't get paid for it. That's a real ego-deflator.

'What if that paranormal-whatever could be taken care of "right away"?' I asked defiantly. 'Do we need to bother telling you?'

'You must still come to me,' Father Dominic replied in his calm yet commanding voice. 'After all, sometimes our judgement can be impaired when faced with certain situations.'

No kidding. You don't have to tell me twice. As much as I hated to admit it, Father Dominic was right about something. But the things that had impaired my judgement in the past - lust, love, and broken heartedness - were totally over, right?

No comment.

'That's it?' CeeCee asked, confused. 'That's all of the rules? I mean, not that I want any more.'

Father Dominic smiled at CeeCee with the same smile he uses on first graders. 'Yes, CeeCee, those are all of the rules.'

'But sir, that doesn't reach the quota for tedious and unnecessary rules,' Adam joked. 'Looks like CeeCee and I get out easily. I mean, we can't do exorcisms anyway, we don't mind the whole buddy-system much, and we don't have the ability to sense paranormal activity. I like this gig.'

I smiled at him fondly. Adam was such a sweetie. He always had been and always would be. I saw the way that CeeCee looked at him. I'd seen that look before. It had possessed her eyes every minute of everyday. But now it was stronger. Her love for Adam was out in the open. She was so in love with him, you could sense it like you could sense no ghost. In your heart . . . like, hope. Hope for love.

Both of them looked good together. Like a two piece jigsaw puzzle. They fitted together perfectly, and couldn't be separated. Their happiness was kind of infectious, too. Adam's jokey nature and CeeCee's suppressed joy radiated gently around the room that they occupied. It would be felt, and it could ebb away at sadness.

And I needed all the ebbing I could get.

Jack frowned down at his salad. 'This tastes funny,' he said, poking it hesitantly with his fork. I looked up in mild outrage, but CeeCee asked him, 'What's wrong with it?'

Jack shrugged. 'I dunno. Just don't want it. Do I have to eat it?'

'Yes,' I sniffed shortly. 'Vegetables are good for you. I had to eat them when I was your age so you do too. Childhood sucks. So eat.'

Paul flashed me a cool look, and leant over to Jack. 'You don't have to eat it,' he whispered loudly. He meant for me to hear that. I knew that he did. He wanted me to know that he was defying my advice . . . he wanted to win.

I felt my face heat up.

And Jack, of course, liked his brother's offer better than my own. So he completely shoved his plate of salad over along with his veggies, and went straight for the steak.

Paul rewarded his little brother by ruffling his hair playfully. I glared at Paul. He SO does not know how to raise a kid. You don't REWARD them for defying authority.

I could just see little mini-Pauls running all over the place, wrecking buildings, lighting fires, and harassing innocent little girls. And their dear-ol-dad Paul will be looking down on them with pride and ruffling their hair.

Someone, quick! We have to stop Paul from reproducing before he and his offspring take over the world.

I did NOT just go there.

Ha . . . maybe we can just kill Dani before it's too late, and we have mini-Pauls?

Okay, so I DID go there.

And hey . . . even if Paul does not reproduce with Dani . . . it'll be fun anyway, right?

Death to Danielle . . . who cares if she is apparently an internationally famous supermodel with a smile that could crack an ice sculpture and a face so perfectly designed it cannot be paid for.

Okay, obviously a lot of people would care. I mean, the sudden homicide someone as rich and well known as her would cause a lot of noise. Models don't get offed one day, and NOT get to be in the paper the next. I mean, even I knew about Danielle Moore. How once, she was rumoured to have had a thing with Prince William, in some magazine. I doubt it's true . . . hang on, I don't actually.

I don't know anymore . . .

Adam looked up again. 'Nice, Suze?' he wanted to know.

'Hmm?'

'The food,' CeeCee said flatly.

'Oh,' I smiled, 'Uh, yeah. It's really good. When did you have time to buy all the . . . you know, ingredients and stuff?'

Dani tossed her sporty red hair. 'When you were busy snoring,' she said slyly. Paul gave her a look. I don't know what type of look.

I really don't. It was unreadable. But he gave her a look all the same. Knowing my luck, though, probably one that meant, "You GO, girl!"

How weird . . .

I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like a rubber band that had been stretched way to far. I snapped.

'That's it,' I said, hopping out of my chair, 'I'm out of here. If you need me, you'll just have to find me.'

I regretted the whole hopping up part because my leg throbbed in protest. So what if I stumbled a little bit. I didn't care.

I hobbled over to the elegant French-style doors and had my hand on the knob. To add to the drama of my exit, I turned fiercely around and shot a look at Dani, thoughts of pure hatred floating freely in my mind.

But the only thing that came out was, 'And I so do NOT snore!'

I stomped into the main entranceway in fury. Well, stomp may be a little too optimistic for what I was doing, but that was the only other way to describe it. Anyway . . .

I was so angry with everyone and everything. I was mad at Dani for obvious reasons. I mean, she had no right to say things about me that weren't true. Like, that I snored. Because I so don't. I sleep as quiet as a Church mouse, thank-you-very-much.

And then I was infuriated with Paul for giving Jack permission not to listen to me. And I was equally mad at Jack for not ignoring his brother's words. Heck, I was even mad at CeeCee, Adam, and Father Dominic.

I'm not really sure why, but I was MAD. So leave me alone, okay?

But anyway, I really had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that I just wanted to go somewhere and be alone. I wanted to escape to the into he dark cavern that was my mind. It's funny how I really never wanted to be alone in the first place. I just end up that way.

And the only reason it comforts me is because I'm just used to it.

I began to ascend the long staircase, refusing to acknowledge the small shots of pain that were shooting from my leg with each step. And then, all of a sudden I ran into something hard, causing me to fall back a bit.

Um, ow.

It turned out to be Jesse. Well, actually Jesse's chest to be more exact. Damn him and his rock-hard chest. It almost made me want to shove mouthfuls of ice cream down his perfect face to fatten him up or something. He's hazardous.

It's okay, ladies. I said ALMOST.

'What do you want?' I asked him as I crossed my arms coolly. Well, as cool as I could after just plowing into him. That kinda thing is hard to ignore. But Jesse didn't seem too concerned about it. He seemed more concerned about . . . well, me.

'Susannah, what is the matter? You seem angered for some reason,' Jesse said. He was kind of talking down to me, but not on purpose. He was, after all, on the next step up. So add that little fact and his undeniable tallness, and you have him talking down to me.

Duh, I wanted to tell him. Of course I was mad. But at the same time, I really didn't want him to see me angry, because then he'd probably start to get all guidance counselor on me and try to find out what was wrong with me. And I really, REALLY, didn't want to talk about it right then.

'Nothing,' I told him as I tried to dodge him by stepping past him, 'So scoot.'

Well, needless to say, that wasn't very convincing. 'Tell me what troubles you, Susannah,' Jesse replied as he stepped in front of me again. I tell you, there is no getting past this guy. He's, like, a brick wall or something. Stonewall Jesse . . .

'Don't you have better things to do' I asked him venomously, 'like, I dunno, watching Jack eat or something? He might need help with that too.'

Jesse frowned. 'Jack is fully capable of eating on his own. It is you I'm not so sure about, Susannah.'

'What are you talking about?' I wanted to know. 'I cleared my plate back there. Do you think I'm Bulimic or something?'

'I wasn't talking about the food,' Jesse said, obviously beginning to get annoyed with me. I've had to face Jesse being annoyed with me before. It was nothing new really. It just always made me feel bad for some reason.

But now I was confused. If he wasn't talking about the food, then what WAS he talking about?

Jesse's face lightened up a bit as he said, 'I'm worried about you, Susannah. You can't even walk properly, and you think that you can go parading around this place and not face injury?'

Oh. That.

Well, I was perfectly fine. My foot was only . . . um . . . mildly throbbing. But that was only because I was annoyed. Yeah, my annoyance was being channeled into my foot.

No big.

'Parade?' I demanded, 'Am I a float? Do you see any marching bands? No, I'm going upstairs quietly, for some quiet time. No parades here - '

Jesse groaned. Annoyance was the name of the game. 'Susannah,' he said, running one large, tanned hand down one hot, tanned face, 'Please. This school is dangerous. Can you not sense it? There are spirits here that have been unsettled for a long time, and, from what I can gather, they do not appreciate this intrusion.'

'Well, stuff them,' I said. Only, my profanity wasn't limited to "stuff," I'm ashamed to say.

What? I was twenty three. I had a license to swear, just like James Bond had a license to kill. Except he's 007. I'm more like . . . 000. Or 666. But God, wouldn't I like a license to kill? Yeah, kill that stupid bimbo of a -

Meh.

'Where were you planning on going, may I ask?' Jesse looked down at me curiously.

'My - um, room, because I'm tired - '

'You have been sleeping all afternoon Susannah,' he said flatly. 'Do not try to convince me that it was sleep you intended. You planned to explore on your own, didn't you?'

God, sit me in a dark room and shine a blinding torch in my face, why don't you? This was the treatment that the cops on TV gave the crims. Was I THAT low?

I raised my eyebrows. My rather nice eyebrows, if I do say so myself, not pencil thin like Dani's. Mine looked more . . . natural. So I waxed them, at least they didn't look like they'd been drawn on with a Fine Liner. But whatever. 'Of course not, Jesse,' I said with huge eyes, 'I love rules and conviction. I'd never do anything Father Dom didn't want me to.'

Jesse snorted.

'Oh, fine,' I snapped. 'Yeah, I was going to explore. And why not? While Dani's busy in the kitchen flirting with everyone with a penis, I thought I would do something productive.'

I swear to God, I so almost said "reproductive."

Ew.

Jesse looked strange. 'Danielle was flirting with Jack?'

I scowled, and pushed past him. 'Give her half the chance - who cares? Just leave me alone.' I tried to, you know, be cool and everything and run up the stairs, so I'd look all sporty and fit and preoccupied, but damn those stupid stairs . . . they were really small, you know? I slipped on one. So yeah, that's when Jesse started following me.

I turned to give him an accusing look. 'What are you doing?' I demanded.

His eyes looked back at me mysteriously. 'I am accompanying you, Susannah. You are going exploring, I know this. You are not, however, going alone. I do not care if you protest to this, I am coming with you. It is one of Padre's rules.'

I gave him a glare. A rather hateful one, too. Which was perfectly acceptable of me, I think. Due to . . . you know, things that had happened in the past.

And certain letters that were left on certain hospital beds by certain people.

No names, of course, Jesse.

What else could I do, though? There was no way I could find the ghost unless I got to go exploring. And I couldn't go exploring without Jesse shadowing me.

I swear. Dommykins probably still thinks we're in high school. Puh-lease.

Well, if he wants to treat us as such, I might as well go on defying authority as I had in high school. I'd find a way.

You see . . . this house was pretty big. Big enough that I could accidentally get separated from Jesse. And then I'd be free. Free to explore what was really behind those classroom doors.

Take that, Father D.

'Fine,' I told Jesse, 'I don't care. You can come with me if you want. Whatever.'

I, of course, crossed my fingers at my side. Jesse was none the wiser, of course. Maybe a little shocked that I gave in so easily, but he still went along with it.

God, I'm good. In a totally bad way, of course.

I continued up the stairs, with him trailing behind me like a loyal dog. It was a little annoying because every step I took that might have been just a little unstable, Jesse would stretch out an arm and catch my back. Eventually, he had to have his hand on my back the rest of the way, because I apparently can't walk.

This was no good. I couldn't stray away from Jesse when he was touching me like that. I mean, not like THAT but like . . . oh, nevermind. He was just making sure I wouldn't fall. That's ALL.

Ugh. Story of my life.

Whatever. I reached the top of the stairs on the third floor. I was going to go up to the fourth floor, but my foot had decided otherwise. Yeah, foot just had a mind of its own. Seriously. I couldn't figure out the best way to ditch Jesse, because, you know, with him being dead and all, he'd find me again and give me one of those, "I'm not angry, just disappointed" looks.

Meh. I looked down the corridor. It was eerily lit. Apparently, someone had gone down the hall turning the occasional light on. Who cared, anyway? It wasn't as if we'd have to pay for the electricity bill. Which was pretty cool. The whole free accommodation thing . . . made you wonder how organized this whole gig was, huh? I thought it was a pretty sloppy job, but the SIA had only just begun.

So yeah . . . give us some credit, right?

Dust drenched the old walls. Everything, it seemed was consumed by dust. So yeah, everything looked a lot grayer than it would have if Mr Dick Head had have called up a cleaner once a year or something. Jeez . . . way to let a place go. Thirty years?

And only NOW he wanted to turn it into a bed and breakfast?

The guy was on crack. For sure.

Either that, or he was just insane after so many years having to live with the frequent Richard Head jokes. Which was a very likely reason to go insane, right? I mean, I was almost insane, and all that had happened to me was I got viciously dumped.

YEAH JESSE.

Of course, maybe I was insane to begin with, to think that it would work out between us. That HAS to be it, right?

Anyway, the dust-ridden hallway was adorned with various pictures and some miniature statues. I'm sure they were probably of some important historical figures or something like that. Socrates, Plato . . . the philosophy types.

You know, if I owned a school, I'd definitely put statues of Homer Simpson. But that's just me.

But other than various out-dated works of art, there was nothing really wrong with it. If Jack and I hadn't experienced the little dumbwaiter escapade, I would have never guess this place was haunted. Creepy, but not haunted.

Well, now that you mention it, it did look a little bit creepier since the only light that was lighting the halls besides the random lamps was the eerie blue glow of Jesse's aura. And I guess that does make it haunted too since there was a ghost there. Just not the one I was looking for.

I accidentally tripped, which was funny because I didn't remember anything in my way. It was as if I just tripped on someone's shoe or something. Or maybe Jesse and his obsessive compulsive urge to follow me had accidentally done it. All I knew was that I found myself flat on my face a few seconds later.

Luckily, I was wearing pants. Jesse would have gotten quite a show if I had pulled that in a skirt.

I tried to push myself up, groaning in frustration. I half expected for Jesse to suddenly start cracking up because of my clumsiness. And then the whole house would hear his roaring laughter and (even Adam and CeeCee who technically couldn't hear him) and see me and then start laughing with him. At me.

'You're right Jesse,' I whined as I blew some hair out of my face. 'I can't even walk without falling. You probably think I'm, like, the biggest dork or something.'

Jesse looked confused. 'Dork?'

'Nevermind. You wouldn't get it.'

'Oh,' Jesse said as he took my hand and helped me up. 'Cool.'

I was shocked. Cool? COOL?!

Okay, who died and made HIM modern?

Wait . . . that sounds stupid. Because, technically, he died. He's like, totally dead. And Jack probably made him modern. He's like, totally alive.

So meh.

Jesse said cool. I'll get over it.

We were standing up, in the middle of the hallway. I was facing him, and, happened at that moment to notice again what exceptionally fine abdominal muscles he had. You know, with the ripped shirt and all, they're hard to miss. And I'd only grown a little taller since my eighteenth birthday, which was around when I left Carmel. And him. But yeah . . . those thoughts were pushed forcefully out of my mind.

Jesse's abs were in the past.

Well . . . and right in front of me - but can we PLEASE just look ahead???

Yeah, Suze. To see Jesse's abs.

You dork . . .

Jesse, I noticed, was looking down at me curiously with dark eyes. Everything about him was dark. His skin, his hair, his white shirt, even. It looked grey, in this light. But his eyes had the most obscurity, the eternal mystery. It was like his pupils contained a universe, one that stretched on for miles, in complete and utter blackness. The reflections in his eyes were the silver stars, and the flaked chocolate of his irises were the solar systems. I felt myself getting lost in his eyes all over again -

Suze, DON'T.

God, how could I DO this to myself again?

With a cough, I jerked away, which landed me against the fall. Oh, the grace. I didn't care. As long as I wasn't looking into those eyes, I was safe. Yeah, safe. From losing all ability of thought, and sense, and confidence, and . . . remembering.

I'm sorry. I really am. You're all thinking, "Um . . . Suze? Get over it? It's been and gone. Now, MAKE OUT WITH THE HOT MAN."

But you don't get it. You really don't. You don't understand how much hurt this guy caused. How many tears were shed. Tears that weren't meant to come. I shouldn't have cried. He shouldn't have refused to come with me. If he had have come, things would have been exactly the same.

Only I'd be happy.

Ha . . . he thought he was saving me.

Er, beg to differ? Jesse had condemned me to a life of misery, where I dwelt on the past and dreamed of what could have happened. How different things had been. He did that. He thought that he was saving me from a life of . . . well, not living.

But I'm not even alive now. I'm only half the girl I could have been.

No, I'm not doing that pathetic "Jesse completes me" thing. I mean, that is SO Jerry Maguire. I'm just saying . . . I gave Jesse my heart. But he broke it. Only . . . he didn't give it back. He kept the pieces, so I couldn't heal it and give it to someone else.

He wouldn't let me. His memory wouldn't.

I'd merely look at some other dude, and I'd see Jesse, and I'd have to look away.

Five years. Five years, this ghost haunted me. Only, this time, he was no where near me . . .

Funny how that happens, huh?

'Susannah,' his low, Spanish voice interrupted my forsaken musing, 'Are you all right?'

I realized that I was gawking down the hall. My mouth was probably hanging wide open, ready to catch flies or something. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a little trail of drool or something. That would be so like me, right? Or . . . well, Jack.

I sighed, and ran my fingers through my hair again. I felt cold. I didn't know why, I should have been warm enough. But no . . . I felt like a bitter slice of winter was searing through me. Gustily blowing the fragments of my heart away from my mind, so they were now two separate voices.

I could think clearly now, without wearing my heart on my sleeve.

'Jolly,' I beamed at him. With slight sarcasm, but he didn't need to know that.

Jesse nodded uncertainly. 'I see,' he murmured. I bet you he didn't.

I continued walking down the hallway. This house, this school . . . it was strange. I felt very weird. It reeked with education, and secrets, and tragedy, and silence. I could almost smell the things that had been learnt here in the past, and I could feel the sorrowful events in the coldness of my fingertips. The secrets were spice on my tongue and the silence was so deadly it roared in my ears.

And yet, all I saw was dusty darkness, and perpetual hallways.

Oh, happy day.

Jesse's footsteps trailed consistently behind mine. The rhythm of his steps seemed to patronize me, as they slipped into the steady beat that I was traveling. How RUDE. First he stole my heart, now he stole my PACE. Humph! I quickened my feet, so as to differentiate my feet's cadence to his. Shadows played numinously on the spasmodic wall patterns, bathed in the dim afterglow of Jesse's cool blue aura.

'So,' Jesse attempted, to start conversation. His voice was sepulchral, and in a kind of growl, that was so typical of him.

'So what?'

'So,' he said again, walking just behind me, and I felt a chill drown my arms, 'This exploring isn't very . . . engaging.'

'Engaging?' I scoffed. 'You want engaging, go watch Paul and Dani play footsies. I totally don't mind your absence. Hell, I'm used to it,' I added bitterly.

When did this corridor END?

His hand came to my arm. 'Susannah, please,' he sighed tiredly, 'This is so immature of you.'

Immature. I'm immature. He destroys my ability to love, and he calls me immature.

My God.

I must have been glaring pretty hard, because I felt the undeniable strain in my forehead. And suddenly, it hurt to glare, so I just yanked my arm away from him, and marched down the hallway, my eyes keen for any sign of suspicious activity.

Like, if Paul suddenly burst out of a room and smiled kindly at me, I would deem that as suspicious.

And then I'd kill him on account of my suspicions.

And I'd enjoy every minute of it.

And if I got caught . . . I'd say he looked kinda shifty.

Meh.

I killed a lawyer. The world is a better place.

Stupid . . . Slater . . . Barbie . . . implants . . . shesabitchandahalfandsheisaloserandtheyaresooooofakeyoucantotallytellyouloser . . .

No comment.

Honest.

'Susannah,' Jesse groaned, his voice running over my name like an over-used swearword that he was cursing out. It kind of hurt, the tone that he was using with me. Like I was a chore. God . . . thanks, honey. Really. For someone who's got low self-esteem, you're a real savior.

Um, not???

I kept going, but it was then that I heard something.

That laugh . . . that chilling, deep, soft chuckle, coming from what it seemed to be, within the very walls. As if the voice had been buried within the concrete of this school. Embedded.

I stopped. So did Jesse. I knew, because he ran into me, before grabbing my shoulders to steady me from falling from the impact of his sudden lack of grace. I couldn't hear what direction the laugh came from. It was like it was surround-sound or something. It chilled my blood. Ugh.

I turned to face him. Jesse, I mean. Not the phantom chuckler. 'You go that way,' I said, pointing in the direction we'd come from, 'And I'll go that.'

'Susannah, we should not split up - '

'Go,' I muttered dangerously, and stalked off in my assigned direction. He wasn't following, so that was a good sign. I waited with bated breath for another little laugh to daunt my senses, but it didn't come, failing to award my anticipation.

The dark, brownish walls seemed to close in on me now that I knew there was an unwanted presence. Mind, to this ghost, I was probably the unwanted one. But this ghost had endangered a life, so it had to be kicked out.

Er, I mean, mediated nicely.

Rousing me from my thoughts came the revenge of the roaring laughter. Only this time, instead of the whole surround-sound effect, it sounded as if the ghost was right behind me. Like how Jesse was following me earlier, except this ghost, whoever he/she/it was, was probably not looking to protect me.

I whipped around as fast as possible to check what was behind me. But the hallways were as empty as the bank account of a homeless person. No sign of anyone hanging around, human or ghost . . . not even Jesse.

And that's what kind of scared me. Jesse wasn't there anymore. Even if I was the one who told him to scram anyway, I just couldn't help but feel safer when he was in the same hallway as me.

I need a new mantra. I don't need him. I don't need him, I don't need him, Idon'tneedhimIdon'tneedhimIdon't-

Okay, maybe I do. But I so am NOT gonna let him catch on to that. That would just be embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing than what I did next.

I ran.

I just took off and ran down the dark, musty hallway. It seemed to just go on forever and ever. Kinda like the Shadowland, now that I really think about it. Except minus the unfamiliar constellations, the excessive fog, and the bright light that you're not supposed to go into. But, this hallway DID have a long stream of doors that had God knows what hidden behind them.

Well, there was only one way to find out . . .

I kind of stopped myself, causing me to slide a few feet due to our friend inertia, and pushed the door open to one of the rooms that just so happened to be closest. I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against the door, panting.

I never considered that the room might be just a little dark. And maybe a little haunted, too.

I looked around, a little freaked out. Something was out there, playing with my head. Like, I dunno, Paul Slater used to. Only, when Paul did it, it only affected my love life for five years. Correction: lack of love-life. But it wasn't really anything that would threaten my life. Much, anyway.

I tried to convince myself that whoever was doing this was just trying doing some friendly initiation. I mean, the guy (or girl or whatever) hadn't been in contact with people in over thirty years. Moreover, we were people actually looking for him. We could actually talk to him.

Or, er, her.

Then again, I remind myself that this was probably the same ghost that trapped poor Mrs. Head. It's bad enough the poor lady has an unfortunate last name, but she has to deal with the Dickhead himself every night. And then her husband's silly dream leaves her trapped in houses by a merciless ghost?

It almost made me thankful. It could be a whole lot worse. I could have been Mrs. Head.

Holy crap, it was dark in there. There was absolutely no light coming in. And certainly no Jesse in there. Not that I WANTED him to be in there or anything. I could so handle this on my own.

Stop laughing. NOW.

Speaking of independence, the light switched on all on its own just then, sort of causing me to jump. In an instant, I could see that this room was some sort of music room. There was a piano in the corner of the room and some HUGE portraits of major composers like Bach and Beethoven, and yeah, a portrait of the Beatles.

Now, when I said the light switched on, I only meant a lamp. It was an antique looking floor lamp that was by the piano. It had a dark lampshade, so it cast this really eerie glow about the room. Everything, including the old baby grand piano, was covered in dust and there were cobwebs everywhere. The walls were painted this deep red colour. You know, the same color as fresh blood.

No, I'm not a Goth, I'm being perfectly serious. The walls were shaded in a red that could only provoke the suspicion of blood. But it was paint, people.

Well, I freaking HOPED it was.

Ringo, Paul, George and John leered down at me eloquently from their pride of place on the wall, with their long hair and their grayscale faces.

I stood against the door, not moving. I mean, nothing else was, so that was okay. This was all apart of exploring, nothing to –

Suddenly, along the piano, sheets of music materialized. Hundreds of sheets, all neatly aligned on the built in stand of the grand piano. I stared in surprise, and one of the titles of the songs on the symphonies caught my eye.

"Let it Be."

Beatles songs. Meh, I could deal.

Well, I thought I could.

It was about then, that invisible hands started thumping on the keys, to Beatles number. "Help!" I jumped in alarm, and looked around wildly, creeping along the wall closer to the raucous piano. The lamp seemed to be dimming again. With a slightly pounding heart, I got closer to the haunted instrument, when more invisible hands pounded on the ivories and ebonies. I almost shat myself, I'm ashamed to say. Seriously. I don't scare easily, with the ghosts. But when I can't SEE them - something I sure as hell am not used to - well, that's a different story. I knew why I couldn't see them - they weren't there. They had possession of this whole school, and could literally control illusions, without appearing. Oh, they were here all right. They were probably all pointing and laughing at me, all scared shitless against the wall.

'Ha freaking ha. Great joke, now kindly get a life?' I snapped, sounding a lot braver than my oscillating heart was willing to testify for. Get a life . . . right.

Just not mine.

"Help!" ended, and began an eerie rendition of "Misery" began. Who was playing it? The chilling, perfect chords seemed to immobilize me. I felt a coldness penetrate my skin, and sink right into my bones. I really didn't know what to do, now that there was no ass to kick.

However, halfway through misery, "I'll Get You" intruded rudely, making my heart feel like someone was squeezing it. The threat of this song seemed nothing like how the old Beatles used to play it. This one was dark, and fatal sounding.

But I was pissed at myself for being a wuss.

So I turned angrily and marched toward the ajar door.

Only, damn it, it slammed shut with an echoing THUD.

I swore angrily, when a spilt second before it happened, I heard a tiny creek, only to look up and see one of the massive Bach portraits falling, destined to come crashing on ME.

With a mortifying squeak, I dived to the left, and winced at the thunderous collision of the canvas on the wooden floor. The frame easily broke, but also made fairly considerable dents in the planks on the ground. Damn . . . I hope Mr Head paid us before he noticed this little bit of damage, that wasn't so little when you thought about it.

'I get it! I have no appreciation for classical! But seriously, dude, have you not heard of hip hop?' I reasoned, scrambling away shakily. The portrait flew vertical, so the piercing eyes of the guy in the painting seemed to be glowing at me, ripping my soul. Not so hot.

And "I'll Get You" was still playing. No, not playing, attacking. I felt like something very menacing was advancing on me, and when it reached me, the outcome wouldn't be that pretty.

That's juuuuuust great, huh?

With short breaths that hurt my throat, I launched myself at the doorknob, and turned it. Well, my hand turned, but the knob didn't, unfortunately.

The door was locked.

Fricken TYPICAL, right?

The piano's volume increased, rising into a climactic crescendo, and making my head roar in complaint. It was too loud - I couldn't think.

'Get lost,' I growled at the piano angrily, but in response, all the sheets of music rose abruptly, and soared at me, swirling around in a crackly mess like winged monkeys. I gasped and swatted madly, as muted shades of grey blocked my vision, and blurred staves and lyrics and notes and treble clefs danced before my eyes furiously, and refusing to cease.

'This is REALLY pathetic,' I sniped, trying to cover up my fear with a confident tone. Don't think it worked. Wind was blowing at me, and paper slashed across my body, as if to assault me.

The titles of the music demanded attention as they seemed to slice my skin. I yelled in fury, breathing faster and faster, and the piano got even louder, and far away, I could hear someone laughing. A guy. A guy was doing this, and he was laughing and he was scaring me and I was trapped in a swarm of possessed paper.

It really wasn't as amusing as it sounds, I swear to God. I COULDN'T SEE OR GET OUT AND I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT WAS HAPPENING OR WHERE THIS STUPID GHOST WAS AND I HAD NO CLUE WHAT TO DO -

'SHUT UP!' I yelled piercingly, kicking the door with my throbbing ankle . . .

The piano stopped, the lamp went out, and the paper collapsed in a horrible white mess around me. Sheets were still floating freakishly down for several seconds, before everything was still and there was no more rustling of paper.

Breathing very, VERY hard, I glared around in delirious accusation, as my head seemed to pound faster than the vivace tempo of my own heart.

Someone was messing with me . . .

Someone was trying to scare me . . .

Someone was right here, in this room . . .

Watching.

From the darkness . . .

That was when hands seized my shoulders and flung me forward, across the ground. I grunted as I fell flat on my stomach, and got, you know, up close and personal with the splintered floor and everything. Everything was determinedly dark, now, and I couldn't see a thing.

All I could hear was chuckling. Someone thought this was hilarious. Slapstick, at my expense. I felt like a puppet, being pulled on black strings for someone's entertainment.

A marionette, at the complete and utter disposal of a cruel puppeteer.

And there wasn't a thing I could do.

The sniggering of this stupid ghost was screwing with my mind. I felt really dizzy, because it almost sounded like there was . . . there was more than one person laughing . . .

Oh, shit.

MUAHAHAHA. REVIEW! We'LL GET CHAPTER EIGHT UP ASAP IF YOU JUST REVIEW!

Fifteen reviews, because we're greedy little girls who love reviews to make us feel better about our sucky lives!

Well . . . that's Lolly's case anyway. I can't speak for Hayley, so much.

REVIEW OR . . . or we'll make it so there ISN'T a Jesse/Suze kiss later on! Ha! How do you like THAT? HUH, PUNK? HUH?!?!?!

I need a life.

Now review.

Love Lolly.


	9. Let the Games Begin

A lot of people are asking when Cole comes back in. We have not forgotten him, kiddies. He will be back. Just like the terminator. Just, not yet. So yeah. And this is a TAGTEAM! In the reviews, don't just address them to Lolly! (Me.) Hayley is equally – no greater than I. She writes the magic these days. So to LOLLY AND HAYLEY. Mental note, mi amigas! Dos, no uno!

And yes, our little lambs (to the slaughter), there IS a Suze/Jesse kiss. Definitely. Teehee. Just NOT in this chapter. Don't get your hopes up, and don't rush us . . . we have plans . . .

CHAPTER NINE

This wasn't good . . . I was such an idiot for telling Jesse to take a hike. Heaven knows Suze can't handle herself for TEN STINGY MINUTES? It was dark, so I couldn't see anything. The door was somewhere around the room . . . but I didn't know where. The piano wasn't playing, so I couldn't locate that either. And my head wasn't swimming anymore – it was drowning. In what, I didn't know.

Probably in stupidity.

I didn't know what to do . . . damn it, I would have given anything, right there and then, to have been back at the shifter lessons that Paul had provided me with six years ago, where he detailed materialization for shifters. The fact that I hadn't listened – what? So his whole method of speaking softly and seductively has been kind of distracting, SUE ME? – was kind of a downer now. I needed to materialize out of there. But I didn't know how to do so.

Shit.

Darkness enveloped every corner of the room, and everything was totally black –

Hold that thought.

You know that big photograph of the Beatles? You know, with Ringo Starr, George Harrison, John Lennon and Paul McCartney?

Yeah, not to sound paranoid, but the Beatles were looking at me.

I mean . . . really looking at me.

Their eyes were blinking.

Eyes that, yeah, I could see perfectly well in the inky blackness of the room, due to the very soft spectral glow that they cast.

And those eyes weren't just blinking.

They were glaring.

Angrily.

So. This was the first appearance of the ghost. Or, ghosts, as it appeared. I couldn't tell anything from these stupid eyes. I mean, whether they were young or old or fat or gay or lactose intolerant – nothing.

So yeah, I glared back. Whether they could see me in the blanketing darkness, I couldn't tell.

'Open the door,' I snapped with biting tones. 'I am a powerful shifter, and I've totally got the shits with you now. And a shifter with the shits is not exactly on every kid's Christmas list this year, I hear. If you open the door, I will make your exorcisms as painless as I can.'

Um, wrong move, much?

Something heavy – suspiciously like the other life-size portrait of Beethoven – dropped almost on me. But, due to an extra keen sense of hearing I had no idea I had, I heard it coming and scrambled back before another echoing crash shattered through the hopeless darkness. Now I was officially freaked. I couldn't see, and I had apparently pissed the ghost – ghosts – off, as much as they'd pissed me.

My bad.

The thing about ghosts you have to remember is that they aren't all as affable as they make them out to be in the cartoons. In a perfect world, I'd be stuck mediating Casper. I wouldn't mind THAT much. But I'm sure that in this case, these ghosts probably have nothing in common with the 'friendly ghost'.

Now that I think of it, that could be an oxymoron. Friendly ghost, I mean. Oxymoron . . . that one's right up there with 'Fun Run' and 'Susannah's Life.'

So great. I'm pretty much locked in a terribly dark room with some pretty bitter ghosts. I don't know how many of them there are, or how even what they are bitter about. All I know is, they've got a baby grand, and they ain't afraid to use it.

Isn't this so like me?

But this time, instead of playing me another lovely song, the piano started to roll in my direction, heading straight to squish me between the wall and its mahogany exterior. Immediately, I jumped up in the air and landed on my stomach on top of the piano and rolled with it until it crashed into the wall.

I don't know where I was getting these moves. It was like I was in some action movie that had gone horribly wrong.

Maybe they're not paying me enough . . .

Hey, how much IS Mr Head giving us for this gig, anyway –

That was when hands – many hands – shoved me further against the top of the grand piano. I squeaked – when will I stop DOING that?! – and wrestled to turn my head around to see who dared lay a finger – or several – on me, but a hand came to the back of my neck, and forced my face away. It hurt, damn it! Hands ran down the back of my legs and by my waist in almost a caressing way, while others gripped me hard, as if I was the rope that held them from falling down a rocky cliff to a gory, bloody death.

Yeah, mah homies . . . I am yah rope . . .

Ugh.

My heart was going waaaaaay fast, and I was struggling around, panting for release. It was NOT a comfortable POSITION.

YOU KNOW?!

Only, just as I sharply twisted out of the grasping hand at the base of my skull, there was a shower of radiant materialization before me, and the hands just . . . disappeared . . .

I shot to my knees, whirling around –

There was no one there.

I turned back angrily.

'Susannah! What happened here?' Jesse asked, referring to the fallen portraits and the broken wood panels and the chaotic mess of sheets that were now visible in his gentle ethereal glow. A color that was neither blue nor purple anymore.

Huh? He used to be totally blue. What's with the colour scheme now?

OI, JESSE, I ASKED YOU A QUESTION –

Well, technically I only thought it.

So . . . er . . .yeah . . .

Hang on. JESSE JUST INTERRUPTED ME.

'Hey!' I shouted in fury, 'I was THIS close to seeing these ghosts!' I held my thumb and index finger a few millimeters apart angrily, 'This close! And then YOU barge in, and they're kaput! What is your problem?! Don't you want us to find these ghosts? Do our job? You want me to remain JOBLESS, Jesse? After I just lost my LAST one?! That's it, isn't it? You think it's FUNNY, me being unemployed! You're secretly laughing your ass off at the fact that I can't keep a career for more than FIVE SECONDS!' My volume had reached a loudness that was close to that of an electric guitar on vamps, at a concert. I stood there, breathing fast in rage, and Jesse was blinking lazily at me.

WHY, I WAS GOING TO KILL HIM!

. . . AGAIN!

'Susannah,' he said austerely, his dark eyes flashing, 'You were informed of Padre's rules, as were we all. Yet you specifically sought to disobey them. His rules come before any action that we may take against these spirits. You already know that they are somewhat dangerous, if Jack's near-death experience was any indication. I would think you'd have more sagacity than to storm into a situation when you could get yourself killed!'

Whoa . . . and all in a Spanish accent, folks.

In turn, I blinked.

'Cut me deep, Shrek,' I said sadly, 'Cut me real deep just now.'

His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. 'Shr – '

'Oh, why do I bother? My wit is so wasted on you, DeSilva' I groaned, and shoved past him, and through the door that would now open.

. . . I guess, in my deepest, most secret thoughts, I was kind of grateful. I mean, I was starting to get a little freaked there. Not scared, of course. Terrified? Me? Are you kidding?

Yeeeeah, Suze. And Paul Slater's having an affair with Father Dominic.

Please.

Well . . . I'd been a little scared. That seemed to come a little easier these days, horrible as it is to admit. But what can I say? I'm an A-Grade loser. Of course I had potent loseristic tendencies.

Is that a word? Loseristic, I mean.

Well . . . it is now.

But yeah . . . I had no idea what that ghost was going to do then. I had to admit, when his hands had been touching my back, my blood definitely hit sub-zero. What was going to happen to me, I would never know. But it wouldn't have been very pleasant.

'Why did you not call me?' Jesse asked from behind me, as I was thundering down the hallway to the center of the house, where the stairs were.

God. How corny. "Who ya gonna call?" GHOST BUSTERS!

I think not.

'Because you smell,' I said, oh-so-maturely. When I heard a very emphasized sniff from behind me, I turned my head to see Jesse er . . . seeing if I was indeed telling the truth.

Sniffing his armpits.

Whoa. He took me seriously.

I snorted, and kept going, shaking my head. 'I was kidding, Jesse. You don't smell. Of anything. You're dead.'

A nasty silence greeted me. Again, I stopped and rotated. Jesse hadn't moved. He was staring at me with an inscrutable look in his eyes. His posture had collapsed a little, and he looked saddened.

Something painful twanged my heartstrings like the strings of a guitar again, but I shot him a determined glare, and kept going.

. . . He didn't have a heart. Not one that still beat . . . this didn't matter to him . . . he'd deal.

Then why did it feel like I was breaking it? His heart, I mean.

I was apparently the first to experience a Fortunaschweinian shower. Ugh, try saying that ten times fast. No, actually, don't. That can get really annoying, really quickly. Like Paul Slater tends to.

But meh.

My shower started off great. I was pleased to find that the water was indeed, hot and everything was tiled in rich, terracotta ceramics. The faucets were a little faulty, having not been used in thirty odd years, but they ran squeaky clean after about two minutes. I was in the bathroom on the fourth floor, because it was closest to my bedroom. I decided that I had better cut back on the exploring, as much as it killed me to admit. Because Jesse was right – it wasn't safe to go alone, damn it.

I stood under the steamy cascade. Water trailed down my body, and I melted under the comfort of the heat. I loved warmth. Coldness sucked. Because, not only was coldness something that you felt penetrate your very bones, chilling your skin and causing you to violently shiver, it was the coldness of being lonely and lost and desperate in a world of icy ignorance. Whenever I looked at Paul, I felt cold. Whenever I looked at Jesse, I felt warm, but my stubbornness and desperation to cling to the past overruled the warmth I experienced, and conquered it with ice anyway.

Very vaguely, I thought of what Paul had said earlier. "You're never alone . . . You'll never be alone." It crept into my mind hauntingly, and made the hot water run a little colder for a moment, but I frowned, and thought above it. Stupid Paul . . . planting that in my brain . . . bah, go jump off a skyscraper, stupid lawyer.

"But are you sure you're really alone?"

YES ALREADY.

Why can't he just leave me and my thoughts alone? Why couldn't I just stop thinking about him already? I was in the SHOWER for Pete's sake.

Not that I was thinking about him like THAT. I certainly wasn't, okay? That would be so, so wrong.

I groaned, and massaged the excess conditioner out of my hair in frustration, water coursing hotly down my torso.

The day was washed away by the sweltering liquid. My soaked and fully washed hair plastered against my neck and back wetly. The satisfying sound of the hot water hitting the tiled ground made my lips curve up softly. I was breathing in steam. My eyes were closed in pleasure and I was starting to feel relaxed, as everything sank away down the drainage pipes . . . the oil from my skin, the remarks from Paul, the comments of Dani, the pleadings of Jesse, the sensations of many hands on my back, the scars from Cole, the blood from –

. . . The blood?

THE BLOOD?!

With a mighty shriek, I jerked out of the deluge of dark red fluid that was spewing out from the shower head. I urgently shot a crimson-saturated arm out to turn the faucet off, but it WOULDN'T TURN! I was covered – COVERED in thick, portentous BLOOD.

I rammed at the shower door, and landed sprawled across the tiles, with my eyes jammed shut. 'Ew, ew!'

But when I opened my eyes . . . I was only drenched with water. Of the clear variety.

The shower was off.

With huge eyes, I scurried up and seized the towel that was folded fluffily on the near the basins, and wrapped it firmly around me. I was mortified. Ewww . . . I'd touched the floor . . . ewww . . .

Then something occurred to me.

That had obviously been another illusion.

That meant that –

EWWW. I WAS BEING WATCHED!  
  
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I disgusted humiliation, I very carefully slid into my underwear, still trying to keep the towel as close to my body as possible, and not leaving any opportunity for any Peeping Toms to catch me in the nude. Again. Oh, God . . . STUPID GHOSTS.

I HATE THEM! THEY WERE SPYING ON ME!

. . . If I found out that Jesse had EVER done that, I'd get Max, the Ackerman's old dog, to SHIT ON HIS GRAVESTONE.

I was freaked. Someone had WATCHED ME SHOWERING. And between you and me, I'm not overly concerned with water wastage. Translation: I'd taken my time. Which meant . . . the show had gone for quite a while . . .

Oh man, oh man, oh man . . . eww . . .

Again, I worriedly checked my – now fully clothed – body for signs of blood, but it hadn't been real. It had been a ghostly trick. A cruel one, at that. Dripping with blood? That was sadistic. That really was. Ew, ew . . .

With a heavy shudder, I backed out of the bathroom, and, with the towel wrapped around my head, I hobbled back to my bedroom. My foot was pretty much better by then. What can I say? I heal fast. There had to be SOME perks as a shifter, right?

Yes. Thank you.

Down the dark, dusty hallway again . . . eyes from the portraits leered at me, but did not blink as the old Beatles had in that music room. These were still, but they still chilled my spine and made my fingertips freeze.

Should have worn fleece pants . . . not silky boxers. What is my problem?

Don't ask . . . we haven't got that much spare time.

I reached my bedroom door, still feeling as though I was being watched. I tell you, I sure wasn't a fan of this whole not-seeing-ghosts deal. I wasn't used to it. I was used to being drawn to the bright blue auras, and kicking butt. Not getting MY butt kicked. Or, most recently, drenched in icky fake blood. Ew . . . now it was war. Suze Simon does NOT get painted red without a fight. Ghosties were going down. Now it was PERSONAL.

Muah! Muah. Huh . . .

Ugh.

Click your heals together and say, "I need a life, I need a life."

But seriously, folks, is that not just plain creepy? I had been there, enjoying my long shower, letting all my worries slip away, and then those stupid ghosts had to go ruin that by showering me in blood, adding more worry into my already massive pile of worry. It's stressing me out, man.

Stress or no stress, I was growing weary by the minute. Even despite my four-hour nap earlier that day.

Maybe it was saving the life of my arch nemesis's kid brother by keeping him from plummeting to his death inside a small dumbwaiter. Maybe it was the whole dealing with said nemesis's Barbie doll girlfriend. Just MAYBE it's actually the fact that I can't even find out who those stupid ghosts are that keep threatening everyone in this place are. That's enough to make a girl tired, eh?

I vowed then and there that whenever I found out who those ghosts were, I'd give them their just desserts.

After I went to bed, that is.

I awoke once again to the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. This time it was undoubtedly breakfast. I could smell the smell of sizzling bacon a mile away.

After quickly plaiting my long, dark hair into twin braids on either side of my head, and slipping into a light blue denim jeanskirt that was just above my knees, and a rose pink tank top, and then pulled a white sweater over. You know, the ones with the zippers. It had little pockets, too, one in which I found a half-empty packet of Tic Tacs from just before the plane trip from Massachusetts. Meh, cool. I slid my feet into some really comfy white sneakers, ones which I didn't bother doing up the laces for. I shuffled down the stairs and into the dining hall. Taking one look at Paul, who was reading the stock reports in the local newspaper, I decided that the only way I would be able to survive this day was to drown myself in coffee. With extra cream.

All of those hours I put in at Starbucks finally paid off.

I came back into the room with a plate filled with bacon and a little something Adam called "funny pancakes". He called them that, because each pancake had a specific funny shape to it. The two that I got were Mickey Mouse and Ralph Nader. Or at least that's who Adam said they were supposed to be. CeeCee said that he just couldn't pour the batter right.

I looked in the huge room for a place to sit. There was an overwhelming number of chairs in that place. Choosing just one would be hard enough.

I decided to distance myself from Paul, sitting at the other end of the dining hall. It really didn't matter where I sat, because he was so absorbed in how well his stocks were doing. And judging by the accomplished smirk on his face, they seemed to be doing well.

That's it. I'm boycotting NASDAQ. Whatever the heck they do.

Father Dominic was shuffling about all over the place, looking for his lost glasses that he seemed to misplace. He had been up since five in the morning, checking out the library with Jesse.

Jack, obviously not a morning person, stumbled into the dining hall, just as I had finished my breakfast. He was still in his navy blue plaid pajama pants and white T-shirt that he wore to bed. He even showed obvious sighs of bed-head; his brown curls were messy and all over the place.

'Morning, sleepyhead,' I called to him in my most cheerful voice. Jack replied something incoherent as he began to pour syrup on his pancakes. He kind of dozed off and ended up accidentally pouring half the syrup on them.

At least he wasn't drooling.

One person that didn't choose to grace us with her presence was Dani.

Meh. She was probably still applying all that make-up on her face. She needs it.

I bet underneath that mask she's got warts on her nose or something. Or maybe that mole is actually bigger, and she just minimizes it by smothering concealer on it. Or maybe she's really GREEN like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz . . .

Maybe she IS the Wicked Witch! You know, un-melted and all.

I KNEW IT.

I was pretty eager to start working especially now that I knew there were multiple ghosts. Of course, no one else knew that there were more than one besides me. And MAYBE Jesse. But no one else. And I planned to keep it that way.

The only thing stopping me from my goal of finding these ghosts were the frivolous rules that Father Dominic had slapped down on us. I mean, the BUDDY SYSTEM? When we're TWENTY-THREE?

So just to appease the old coot (who still hadn't found his glasses), I had to choose a partner so that I could get to work as soon as possible. What I needed was someone loyal, obedient, and a little naïve.

In other words, Jack Slater.

So after breakfast, I approached Jack and asked, 'Are you ready to get to work, little buddy?'

Jack blinked a few times. 'Work? But it's seven in the morning, Suze. I'm still in my pajamas.'

'The great thing about this job, Jack, is that there is no dress code,' I told him. 'Not everyone is a freak like your brother. What kind of person wears business suits in a relaxed work environment? You can work in anything you want. Even fluffy Garfield slippers, for all I care.'

'That's cool, I guess. But I haven't even brushed my teeth yet,' Jack protested.

Rolling my eyes, I dug a packet of Tic Tacs from my pocket. 'There,' I told him as I shoved the whole little box in his hand, 'they're all yours. Two hours of Tic Tac freshness, for just two calories. Great, huh?' I said brightly, imitating the girl from the ad with her disgustingly white teeth.

He wrinkled his nose. 'My girlfriend Mary calls these Barbie tampons.'

. . . Er . . . okay . . .

I gave him a weird look, and he chomped five. 'So let's go already-'

'Mind if I tag-along?'

Sometimes it seems that Paul just comes from nowhere. One minute, he's out-of-sight-out-of-mind, and the next he's just . . . THERE. It's like he's got radar or something.

He was standing there, looking all professional like he always did. Only, instead of going all out with the business suit thing, he was just wearing a long sleeved, light blue Oxford shirt and a tie.

Before I could get out a "Yes I do mind", Jack replied, 'Nope, not at all.'

I glared at Jack icily. The LAST thing I needed was to have Paul tag-along. He'd for sure figure out there is more than one ghost. And then he'd run back to his little partner Malibu Barbie and they'd find the ghosts together and take all the credit for it.

Jack, seeing my glare, asked, 'Can't he come with us, Suze?'

'No,' I answered firmly, 'Paul is going to be partners with Danielle.'

'Not this time,' Paul spoke up, taking a step closer to Jack.

'Go away,' I told Paul. Then I turned to Jack and took his hand. 'Come on, Jack.'

As I tried to pull on Jack's arm, I noticed that he wasn't moving with me.

I knew Jack was loyal. That's why I picked him to be my partner this time. Because he'd stick by me no matter what. But his loyalty lay in not only me, but his no-good older brother. Damn.

'Is Dani okay?' Jack asked Paul, a flicker of concern in his soulful blue eyes.

Paul looked uncomfortable for a moment. I thought for a moment that maybe he FINALLY ditched that stupid model because he realized that he could never love someone made of 98 plastic. He should go for someone a little more REAL.

Or maybe she dumped him. Yeah . . . he deserved it.

Paul finally answered, 'Yeah, she's fine, Jack. It's just . . . girl stuff.'

Jack's eyes widened. 'Eww,' he whined.

Eww indeed, young one. Eww indeed.

I was tempted to just drag Jack out of there myself, but I noticed that Paul happened to be blocking our only exit. Plus, Jack seemed to be set on having Paul come with us.

'Would you mind moving?' I asked Paul rudely as I motioned at the door. 'Jack and I have some work to do.'

'Sure,' Paul said as he moved out of the way. I led Jack out and the door closed behind us. Paul was following us.

'When I said move, I meant for you to get out of the way. Not to move with us,' I informed him.

Paul smiled his perfectly white politician's smile. 'My mistake.'

I glared. His mistake? And yet, mysteriously enough, he was still following.

'So sue me if I want to spend time with my favourite little bro and my favourite shifter,' he said smoothly to me. I felt myself blush a little, to my self-disgust. Jack scowled. 'I'm your ONLY brother . . . '

I gave Paul a cynical look. 'Paul Slater's favorite shifter is Paul Slater. So get lost,' I hissed at him. Jack looked very put out. But . . . with another dazzling smile at me, Paul whispered loudly to Jack, 'Come on, let's show her our puppy eyes.'

You. Are. Kidding.

No, they weren't.

My God, they weren't.

Within the second, Paul had pulled Jack right beside him and had crouched down next to his face, where they both pleaded to me with identical, sparkling blue eyes that were laced with ice. But that's not it. Then came the lower lips. Both Paul and Jack stuck them out like a kid does when he really wants a lollipop and his mother won't buy it until the mom's like, "Aww . . . but you're so cute . . . okay then . . . "

Then, in unison, came a long and heavy, 'Pleeeeeeeease?' Paul's snappy business shirt and tie contrasted sharply with Jack's pajamas, and they both looked so different, yet so . . . alike. They were definitely brothers. You could tell in a split-second. Jack's adorable, help-me-I'm-lost look was only matched by Paul's.

No . . .not the Slater puppy eyes . . . I'll do anything, just NOT THE –

'Oh, fine!' I snapped, and turned away with nipping irritation. It felt like millions of mosquitoes were feasting on me, now that I had given into something so obviously pathetic. A couple of guys looking sad? I'd fallen for THAT? My GOD, I'm a LOSER.

Ugh!

FINE. If Paul Slater wanted to come along, that was A-OKAY with me. He'd already ruin my life, so why not ruin my chances of actually doing something RIGHT for a change? Although, I bet he'd be too absorbed in himself to even notice any paranormal activity going on.

As long as he stayed a good five-feet away from me at all times, I was good.

'What, was that the first brotherly contact you've ever had?' I asked him nastily. Paul looked indifferent.

'Of course he doesn't touch me all the time!' Jack piped up, 'That would be incest.'

'Um . . . ew?' I replied. 'Jack Slater, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?'

Seeing as though the kid hadn't exactly seen his mother recently, that was a dumb thing to say. I realized my mistake when Paul's smile widened.

I gritted my teeth, and gripped Jack's shoulder that little bit harder. After having Beethoven piccies thrown at me and blood spewing out of showerheads which I washed in, this was NOT very rewarding. Exploration with Paul Slater? Hell, ANYTHING with Paul Slater? Count me out.

Only . . . the guy didn't take no for an answer.

Boy, I sure knew THAT by now . . .

Cough, cough.

'So,' he said efficiently, catching up with me (and Jack, whom I was dragging along by then,) 'Where are we going?'

'We, as in Jack and me? Oh, I dunno, around. Your destination differentiates from that of mine,' I said, using the biggest words I could think of.

Ha, I knew where I wanted HIS destination to be.

Um, who's for Eternal Damnation?

It's UNANIMOUS.

Bah . . . if only . . .

'Suze,' he smiled faintly at me with something like amusement. I was AMUSING his majesty. My God. I felt like the court jester or something. My only reason for existence being to entertain the mighty king and queen.

Of drag.

. . . We can dream.

I stopped, sucked in a dusty breath of annoyance, (Jack yelped as I tugged at his collar and almost choked him,) and looked at Paul. 'What?' I demanded sourly. As in, lemon, sour.

Paul's smile widened to form a definite smirk. Now he was SMIRKING. 'Do you even know where you're going?'

I sniffed. 'Of course I do.'

'Would you mind telling me exactly, where that is?'

Jack blinked up at me cluelessly.

I stuttered. 'I – I'm going to the third floor,' I said, as if this was obvious. I couldn't help but add a 'Duh,' for my own benefit. Paul raised an eyebrow. 'And why is that?'

I stared. 'What the hell do you mean, why? Because I haven't looked there yet, duh – '

'Dani and I covered third floor left of the stairs, second floor right of the stairs, and outside. Third floor seems to consist of dormitories, the second floor, classrooms, first floor, main rooms like the dining hall, ball room, entrance, and several other empty rooms. And outside, there's a neat little graveyard that we're going to have a further look at,' he informed me, looking rather smug indeed. Oh, prissy bossy Mr Smarty-pants then. Be like that. Ugh . . . you smell too . . .

Wait . . . how could they have covered so much of the school if they spent the whole time making-out? Perhaps maybe there really is trouble in paradise, but Paul won't admit it because it would bruise his male ego.

And I would care because . . . ?

'So,' I shrugged, 'I'm going to the – uh, second floor. Classrooms . . . might find something interesting there, you know?' My case was getting weaker and weaker with each passing second. Jack looked very bored, and slightly anxious. 'Can I meet you there or something?' he groaned at me, 'I'll be up the stairs twice before you two stop arguing, Jesus . . . '

I glared at Paul and he glared back at me, and then we both glared at Jack before nodding shortly, and following the little guy. Eeesh . . . little Jackie had put it so plainly for me to see. I was acting five-years to Paul's six-year old. So what if he was dressed in a suit and I had my twenty-three-year-old air? We were both being brats, and it took a brat to point this out to us.

How embarrassing.

Well, PAUL started it.

We made it up the stairs in good time, and in some semblance of peace and quiet. Like ADULTS, thank you very much.

We stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down the dark hallway. This floor, since it was mostly academic, featured a few small statues of some historical figures. Included in those models were some well-known authors, mathematicians, and chemists. They added to the eerieness of the hallway. Because even if these were ONLY statues, I could still feel the cold chills I got when those mysterious hands had touched me. I had the same realization that I had when blood came pouring from that showerhead.

The realization that we were definitely not alone. That we were being watched. Only, there was no way I could express this without totally blowing the whole I-know-something-the-rest-of-the-SIA-doesn't-know thing.

'Why don't you lead the way, kid,' Paul suggested to Jack, throwing a victorious smile in my direction.

Jack looked pleased that Paul let him take the reigns for once. I bet as kids, Paul would always be first player on their Nintendo 64, or probably got first dibs on the remote or something. And now that Jack got to lead, he became thrilled, if not also a little surprised.

'Really?' Jack asked, making sure he'd heard right. 'But . . . but I don't know where to start.'

'Any room you want,' I told Jack as I squeezed his hand supportively. You could so tell I had the sisterly thing down. I was probably even better than Paul and his whole older-brother thing. I mean, kid? Who calls their "favorite little brother" KID? Isn't that, like, a baby goat or something?

Sure, Jack may have a drooling problem. And maybe he possesses a ravenous hunger that cannot be satisfied because he's got a bottomless pit for a belly. But he is certainly no goat.

See? I knew better, and I'd been an only child for a huge chunk of my younger years. So TAKE THAT, SLATER SCUM!

Jack looked around the hallway for a moment, scanning over the doors of the classrooms to see which one looked the most interesting. And, of course, he had to pick the room which looked the darkest and most dangerous from the outside. Especially since standing right outside the door was this gray, creepy statue of some dead scientist that seemed to be guarding the entrance.

'Let's try that one right there with that statue dude in front of it,' Jack shrugged as he pointed nonchalantly at the door.

Paul shrugged as well, saying, 'Lead the way, sport.'

Jack grinned and moved ahead, taking Paul, who had a hold of his shoulder, and me, who gripped his hand more firmly. The inside of the room was, just like the rest of the school, completely dark and dusty and cobwebby and eerie. I think it must have been some sort of Chemistry lab of something because of all the jars and sinks and lab coats that were all over the place.

Paul stepped towards one of the lab tables and brushed the dust off of one of the old Bunsen burners that remained there. He switched on the gas switch and a small, dancing flame came through the chimney of the burner. He threw a grin at me over his shoulder as he ran his fingers through the flames.

Damn. Paul was playing with fire, and he knew it.

I tried to ignore Paul and his stupid grinning trick. Did he think I'd think of him as some bad-boy type or something? What next? LEATHER pants?

God, I could so see that. Not that I imagined Paul in leather all the time or anything. That would be so wrong. Interesting, but so WRONG.

'Oh, look!' Jack exclaimed as he crouched on the ground, examining something interesting. He picked it up and stood up, cupping whatever it was in the palms of his hands. 'It's huge!' he said again, his eyes widening in wonder and awe.

'What is it, Jack?' I asked him as I stood behind him, trying to peak over his shoulder. He turned around and opened his hands and-

'EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!'

I stumbled backwards in utter disgust. Ew eww ewwie ew EW!! Oh my God. OH MY GOD HE WAS NOT HOLDING WHAT THINK HE WAS HOLDING. EWWW.

'What?' Jack asked all defensively. 'It's just a cockroach.'

JUST A COCKROACH? Oh, yeah, just a HUGE BLACK COCKROACH with long antennae and creepy buggy-eyes.

'Put it down, Jack, I'm serious!' I pleaded with him as I held my hands to my face in horror.

Paul chuckled his deep, manly laugh which was filled with dark amusement. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, Suze,' he told me in between chuckles.

Paul took Jack's shoulder once more, leading Jack in my direction. I fell backwards, knocking all of the desks away in a desperate attempt to distance myself from that vile creature.

The roach, not Paul.

'There's plenty to be afraid of,' I hissed. 'They're totally GROSS. Jack, put that down right away and wash your hands! Those things carry DISEASES!'

Paul leaned over and whispered something in his little brother's ear. They both looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

'What,' I demanded, 'is so funny?'

Because I REALLY did not see the humor in this situation. I mean, they were threatening me with this gigantic mutant roach. Jokes are funny. Robin Williams is funny. But disease-ridden, poop-eating bugs are not in ANY way funny.

Paul bit his lower lip to keep himself from cracking up. 'Nothing . . . ' he told me, his tone seemingly innocent. But I could see that in those big, blue eyes lie something that was not innocence. Evil. Pure evil.

I looked at the two of them. 'What?' I asked again, a little hoarse from all of the squealing.

Something flashed in Jack's eyes as he grinned at me and lowered himself to the ground. He opened his hands and out shot the roach. It pelted towards me menacingly.

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

I scrambled onto one of the dusty tables and shrieked, 'Step on it! STEP ON IT!'

Paul and Jack were totally beside themselves with laughter. Paul was slapping his knee, and Jack was laughing so hard he could barely stand up anymore.

'Father Dom says-' Jack paused in the middle of his sentence for a breath- 'that we shouldn't kill God's creatures.'

'God made bugs to PUNISH us,' I informed Jack as I looked down at the disgusting thing. 'He PLAGUED us with them. Why the hell did you think he invented the LOCUTS?'

'To eat other bugs that ruin crops,' Paul replied simply. 'You know, instead of using unnatural pesticides that might cause cancer for humans later in life.'

My mouth stood agape. What the hell could I repudiate THAT with?

Well, it's not like it mattered because Jack hooted, 'I thought you weren't afraid of anything, Suze. I didn't know you wigged out at the sight of bugs! Whoa . . . '

'Shut up!'

The cockroach looked up at me with those dark, overly-large eyes. His antennae were twitching at me in a rather menacing way. I swear, that thing had to be at least 5 inches. I narrowed my eyes at it, and decided to give it the ol' stare down.

But it wasn't working. I couldn't stand to look at it any longer, unless I WANTED to lose my breakfast. I brought my knees to my chest and hid my face.

'Well, well, well,' Paul drawled, 'looks like we have Suze in our little trap now, right Jack?'

My eyes snapped back to Paul, widening in fear.

Oh, wait. He meant the damned mutant bug.

Only now I should say mutant bugs. Because once one saw that it was okay to show it's ugly face, another just HAD to come along. I bet the first roach thought it was funny that I was afraid of it and called the other one to come laugh at me with him.

Hmm. Reminds me of two other people I know.

That's right Paul and Jack. I've compared you to ROACHES. Ugly, disgusting, monster roaches!

The new roach was bigger and even blacker that the first. And apparently, it had taken a liking to me as well because it went right below the desk I was sitting on top of.

'Squish them, Paul,' I demanded, 'or I shall squish you.'

I was furious with Paul because he found this whole thing extremely funny. His laughter provoked Jack to laugh at my expense as well. Paul, without realizing it, was leading by example. I think everyone knows that Paul is not the best role-model. I mean, he makes false promises, he takes advantage of the weak, and he laughs at innocent people because of their bug-phobias.

'Squish me?' Paul asked as he shook his head defiantly. 'Am I supposed to be frightened by that?'

Jack agreed. 'Yeah, you can't squish him, Suze. He's bigger than you are.'

'I'm deceptively heavy.'

Paul and Jack just burst out laughing at my witty rejoinder. I really, REALLY wished that they would stop making fun of me. Seriously, my self-esteem was already below zero . . . why did they have to make it worse.

I was so angry at them, at the world, and even at myself that, without thinking, I ripped out a nearby Bunsen burner and threw it on the offensive bugs. There was a mighty crash, followed by a huge cloud of dust. Once the dust receded, you could see the remains of the Bunsen burner in hundreds of pieces on the floor.

I noticed, as I was jumping down from the desk, that Paul and Jack weren't laughing anymore. In fact, both of their faces were contorted in complete and utter shock.

Once I had calmed down, I remarked, 'Who needs pesticide?'

For a moment, the brothers Slater were completely silent, looking on at the damage I had just reeked on those two bugs. Then Jack leaned over to Paul and whispered quietly (but not quietly enough) 'Do you think she's got the girl stuff too, Paul?'

'Jack, shut it!' I yelled.

'Probably,' Paul replied to Jack, 'so we best not make any sudden movements. We might end up like the roaches.'

'No,' I said, steam blowing out of my ears, 'you will end up like roach FOOD.'

'Roach food?' Jack asked. 'But don't roaches mostly eat things that are-'

'Dead? Yeah, so I'd watch it if I were you.'

Instead of shrinking away with his features plastered with fear, Jack yet again burst out laughing.

I couldn't take it anymore. I was SO out of there. Screw Father Dominic's stupid rules. Who did he think he was anyway . . . president or something? I mean just because he was old and holy, he wasn't the boss, or anything.

. . . And he was kind of also my ex-principal, but . . . ugh, SHUT UP.

I stalked out of the room as quickly as possible with as much class as I could muster. Which was not a whole lot, but I think I got the point across that I was beyond mad because I was joined a few minutes later by Jack, who was then followed by Paul.

'Suze!' Jack called after me. 'Suze, come on. I'm sorry for making fun of you. I didn't mean it.'

Well, well, doesn't that sound familiar? The whole "I didn't mean it" part, I mean. It was as if Paul had gotten a clone of himself, just like that sheep Dolly. Or Dr. Evil's mini-me.

Except, you know, Jack REALLY isn't that short.

I crossed my arms at my chest. 'Go away.'

'I'm serious, Suze. I really AM sorry. It was just so funny because the way you had your face screwed up was priceless!'

One thing Jesse probably hadn't taught Jack was how to apologize properly. Oh wait, I know why. Because Jesse himself doesn't really KNOW how to say he's sorry.

Try adding THAT to your resume, de Silva, and see if you'd get hired as a tutor now.

'Do you take pleasure in exploiting people when they are faced with their greatest fears?' I asked Jack, shoving my index finger at him.

'Um, I –'

'You and your brother . . . you're both exactly the same! You play with people's fear as if it were some old plaything. Go shovel in someone else's sandbox, why don't you, and LEAVE ME ALONE. I'll just go exploring elsewhere.'

I turned around again and began walking until a firm hand landed on my shoulder and stopped me. I could only recognize that icy touch as the one Paul Slater possessed.

'We didn't mean anything by it,' Paul said, keeping his grasp on my shoulder. I tried to brush it off, but he wouldn't budge.

'That may very well be,' I growled, 'but I do mean something by this.'

With that, I casually threw my hand in the air and performed an obscene hand gesture involving a single finger. Good thing Father Dominic wasn't there. He would've had a cow and a half.

'But Suze,' Paul pleaded with a laugh, 'We'll get lost and forget to ask directions.'

'Good. Maybe you MEN deserve it.'

Paul sighed. 'We need a woman's guidance, don't we Jack?'

Jack didn't answer. Paul cleared his throat, prompting Jack to mutter, 'Yeah.'

'You see Suze, behind every man, there is a great woman,' Paul said as he stepped towards me. 'And behind that woman is another man checking out her butt. So Jack, lead the way if you will . . . '

I suddenly felt very strange again . . . why did he make me feel like that?

Paul gestured for Jack to move ahead. Jack began laughing so hard that he needed to use the wall to support. I however, was not laughing.

I don't know what kind of girls Paul's tries his cheesy- and not to mention very sexually harassing- lines on, but I know one thing. They may work for stick-figure models like Dani, but they do not work on me. At least . . . not anymore.

It's amazing that Jack still has a little bit of innocence left him, really. What kind of brother freely digs out lines like that and clearly objectifies women right in front of his own little brother?

I threw Paul my glare of gruesome death and stormed in the other direction, bashing my shoulder against his rudely. I tried to ignore the shoot of pain that went through my shoulder after hitting that wall of muscle. Well, that and the whirl of cologne that swirled about my head.

'Jack and I are really, really sorry, Suze,' Paul said as I was almost halfway down the hallway. But I vowed that I was not going to stop for them. I figured I'd let them have their little "bonding session" or whatever. Heaven knows Paul needed to make up for that whole leaving-his-brother-stranded-in-hell thing.

'We'll do the puppy eyes!' Jack said. I couldn't help but turn around at the fellow, suddenly regretting my action.

Oh no. Anything . . . ANYTHING but the puppy eyes.

I looked away hastily after seeing them and replied, 'I'm not looking.'

Jack had his arm around Paul's shoulder and he leaned his head against Paul's so they looked like those conjoined twins that were untied at the head or something. Except, well, Paul was older than Jack and taller too. That probably wouldn't have worked out very well.

'But you can't resist us, Suze,' Paul cooed smoothly. Holy shit . . .

'Yeah, me and Paul are irresistible!'

'Simply irresistible,' Paul said in the most seductive voice I could have ever imagined. It sent my reflexes into a state of shock and my nerves churned like my skin had needles poking in its every inch, so I ended up turning my head and looking directly at them and their stupid (but incredibly cute) puppy eyes.

'Fine,' I groaned, and bounced on the spot in annoyance. 'I'll play along. Don't be a dick, though. And stop with the eye thing already!'

I hate losing. Hate, hate, hate, HATE. Almost as much as I hate Paul.

But losing TO Paul . . . well, that just sucked.

Suze must lose. See? It even RHYMES.

'I swear,' Paul said as he held up his right hand.

I didn't trust him, so I made Jack promise too. Jack muttered something about me being moody, but he too raised his right hand and swore that he wouldn't sic anymore roaches on me.

. . . Eww . . .

We then hastened to the next ancient room. I decided to open the door and go in first just to, you know, look for insect life. But there weren't any mutated bugs or anything, so I decided it was safe for exploration.

This room was another dusty classroom, much like the bio-lab, only it appeared to be used for the subject of history. There were these really old maps hanging on the walls and a huge globe sitting on the teacher's desk. The maps, you could tell, used to be really bold and colorful back when they were in use, but now it turned gray from dust and usual wear-and-tear.

In the front of the classroom, a giant chalkboard covered the wall. From where I was standing, I could still see some faint writing. I decided that it was worth checking it out, just to see what how the education system had changed, you know?

'The four parts of the Declaration of independence are the Preamble, Natural Rights, the Grievances, and the actual Declaring of Independence,' I read aloud from the board. It was written in the neatest, most flawless cursive that I'd ever seen written on a chalkboard. All of my professors in college used white boards and they had chicken scratch for writing. But the notes were written so perfectly with enough detail, that I would have passed any test on the Declaration of Independence were one given to me.

Well, apparently the former students were expected to do just that. Because right above the notes was inscribed, "Test over the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of the Confederation on Monday."

I don't think they ever got around to taking that test. Lucky fools. If only the school would have closed down before any one of my major algebra tests . . .

I noticed on the far corner of the board, there was a list of names under the title "Detention".

'Looks like we had some trouble-makers back in the day,' I said as I pointed to the names. 'Look at all of those names.'

'Whose are they?' Jack asked.

'We probably wouldn't know them,' Paul joked as he patted Jack on the head.

'Let's see who the poor prisoners are, just for the heck of it,' I said as I walked over to the corner, putting my face close to the board so I could read the fading names.

I read the visible names aloud. 'Cameron Simpson . . . Harold Sheridan . . . Robin Lawrence . . . hmm. Just a bunch of nobodies.'

The globe on the teacher's desk gave a whirling spin on its own, causing me to tear my eyes away from the list momentarily.

'D-did you do that, Suze?' Jack asked, shaking a little in his skin. I shook my head. Paul didn't seem to know where it came from either.

'Back to the list,' I said as I cleared my throat and continued, 'Charles Austin . . . Ryan West . . . Nathaniel Blake . . . Peter Lang . . . Bartholomew For –'

'Why were they getting detention?' Jack queried with childlike curiosity.

'It doesn't say,' I shrugged.

'It was probably spitballs,' Jack remarked knowingly.

'And you know this . . . how?'

'Well, Mr. Walden's bald and the spit balls stick to his head easily.'

Oh.

That's it, then, eh? I never thought Jack would be a class prankster.

'Have you been bad, Jack?' Paul inquired, his blue eyes gleaming a little with pride. Jack beamed up at him. 'Bad to the bone, bro,' he informed.

Now, any decent brother would have chastised this behaviour, but, oops, my bad, this is Paul Slater in discussion here. He sniggered, slapped Jack on the back proudly, and murmured softly to him, 'I could teach you to do a lot more than spitballs.'

A lot of things ran through my mind then . . . pinning girls to lockers and making them kiss you . . . sexual harassment . . . exorcism . . . minions . . . soul transference . . .

'Paul, shut up,' I said angrily. He flashed me a dark smirk, knowing perfectly well that I knew what he meant. It made my stomach drop, and I fumbled and turned away.

I sighed, a little disappointed. There was nothing in this room except for old history notes and a list of useless names. I turned back to the chalkboard and picked up an old piece of chalk, examining it in my hands for a bit.

Suddenly, a horrible gut-wrenching wave rushed over me and my hand was forced to the board. The chalk was pulled to the board, and my cold hands were forced to write in a scrawled print:

"WE ARE NOT NOBODIES."

I jerked back furiously, and threw the chalk away in alarm, as billions of tiny electrical currents seemed to surge up my arm, from my fingertips where I'd been holding it. The chalk, I mean. 'What the hell?!' I demanded. My accusing eyes landed on Paul, and I saw that he was giving me a wise guy look.

'Why did you do that?!' I demanded in an incensed yell.

His smirk continued. 'Oh, sure, Suze. We said we were sorry for the cockroach thing. And we know that you obviously hold grudges, but –'

'Paul,' I stopped him, 'That wasn't me. I swear.'

Jack blanched. 'Suze, stop it –'

Paul grinned at him. 'It's okay, buddy,' he said to him, 'She's just being a –'

BAM.

The door slammed shut very suddenly, and the air rained with unsettled dust. I jumped back, turning my wide eyes back to Paul. It was him, he was trying to scare me, get back at me for –

All the desks in the classroom immediately were pushed by a powerful unseen force, with the strength of an electrified magnet. Jack was in the way of one, and it knocked him over and sent him flying across the room.

'Jack!' Paul and I roared in unison, both battling to get to him first. He lay on the floor, groaning. 'Ow . . . '

'Paul, you okay?' I said breathlessly, and he winced and nodded. Then, making my heart leap in shock once more, all of the posters in the room were ripped severely off of the walls with horrible sounds of shredding. They were being slashed by something that wasn't there.

This demonic possession was a very, VERY strong one . . .

Shit.

With a pounding heart, I stood up, attempting to be every inch of the twenty-three-year-old I was. 'Okay, that's it. Show yourself,' I commanded to the haunted classroom.

In response, the large globe on the teacher's desk began spinning, faster and faster. The yellowy-green continents soon blurred into the blue of the sea, it was rotating at such a high speed. I stared, feeling my body go stiff.

'Cute tricks, really. But they are kind of pathetic. Just like serenading me with John Lennon classics. Don't give up your day jobs – oh wait,' I stopped stylishly, putting my hands on my hips. 'You can't. You're dead.'

Oooh, smart move, Suze. Really.

I was violently thrown back against the far wall.

'Suze!' said Jack in a high voice. I crumpled to the floor, an expression of pain moulded on my face. Paul helped Jack up quickly and they came to my side. I felt Jack's soft fingers on my face. 'Suze?'

Great. On the endless list of Fortunaschweinian injuries, I now had a sore back.

JUST GREAT.

I nodded, my eyes still shut. I caught Jack's fingers which were still touching my cheek in concern, and held onto them for a short moment, before opening my eyes angrily. 'Shhhh,' I whispered to both of them. Paul's eyes were looking sharply at me. 'Where is it?' I asked them.

'Huh –'

'The ghost, I mean. Or, ghosts. There's definitely more than one.' I motioned to the "WE" part in the "WE ARE NOT NOBODIES" thing. 'We, as in, plural. Where are they?' I stood up slowly, and went to stand on the other side of Paul, facing him so that we were looking in all directions of the room for any signs of spectral movement. You know, excluding the globe that was still gaining speed.

Ow . . . my spine sure was going to hurt in the morning. That really sucked. I took a shallow breath in – too deep a breath and it felt like my ribs would crack – and I listened carefully.

Nothing.

'Suze,' Jack started, 'can't we just – '

'SHHHH!' I hissed angrily. That was when the still-spinning globe rocketed off its hinges and pelted at me, knocking me –

Right on top of Paul again.

Ew.

'Ow,' I groaned. Ugh, talk about awkward. Funny, if Dani burst in right now and shrieked "SPRUNG!" or something. Weirdly, I scrambled off of him, my face flushing furiously. He had a ghost of a smirk on his face, and I blushed harder. Then, the lethal earth replica spun towards Jack, but I shoved him out of the way, landing on HIM instead.

What IS it with me and the Slater brothers? Land on Paul, look like a slut, land on Jack, look like a child molester.

Yuck, yuck . . .

(A/N – Lolly – My brother's playing Weird Al Yankovich's "Like a Surgeon" film clip . . . ugh, it's so funny, with all the Madonna play outs, hahaha – sorry. Break the MOOD why don't you, Lolly?! My bad, shall we continue?)

I hauled Jack to his feet. 'We totally have to get out of here,' I said.

'But how, Suze? The doors are locked!' Jack cried, sound as if he popped straight out of a Cult Fiction movie. Any second, he was going to yell "Great Scott!" or something. And then there was going to be some melodramatic acting from the victimized female, namely me, you watch.

'So?' I snapped. 'I shoved my foot through a wall yesterday and was only crippled for twenty-four hours. I'm sure I can deal.' I went to you know, do my thang, when one of the cabinets from the classroom was shoved in front of the door.

Oh. THANKS.

I swear, as soon as I found this freakin' ghost, I was SO going to get medevil on his hiney . . . argh . . . grrr, I am woman, hear me ROAR.

Meow.

'Suze, what do we do?' Jack asked, losing his nerve.

Dare to be stupid? HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!

I held my head in frustration. 'Um . . . '

'Cool it,' Paul's voice broke in like an air-conditioner to my ninety-degree day. 'We can't do anything if we're panicking – '

The drapes on all of the windows suddenly fell down, casting the room in an inviolable darkness.

This just keeps getting better and better . . .

'Oi! RUDE!' was my indignation. It was so dark, just like it had been in the music room the previous night. For a thirteen year old, Jack was holding up pretty well. But just for closure, I grabbed his hand and went, 'It's okay Jack, I'm right here.'

'Uh . . . Suze? I'm over here.'

'What?'

'Uh, hey there,' Paul chuckled.

I dropped his hand as if it had caught fire. 'Oh, my bad.' Wiping my hand furiously on my jeanskirt, I stressed, 'My grossly obscene bad . . . Okay, Jack? Come over here – '

'Don't,' Paul said over me.

I glared . . . in his general direction. I could only see the dim outline of his head. 'Why?'

'It makes you more detectable . . . plus they might try to pull something while you're walking . . . you know, like try to trip you and such. Just stay here. I'll try to generate a light.'

'Come again?' I tried.

I could almost feel his smirk. 'Suze . . . you've been a shifter for twenty-three years, and you still don't know how far your powers stretch?'

'You know that I don't,' I replied dirtily at him. He laughed very, very softly, causing my skin to prickle.

'Suze?' Jack piped up, 'Should we try to move the thing in front of the door so we can get out – '

BANG.

I jumped, and, ashamed as I am, squealed a little too. Oh joy, bet that was attractive.

Ignoring Paul's previous orders completely, Jack scuttled over to me and hugged me around the waist tightly. 'Suze, what's happening? 'he asked in a high voice.

'What . . . are you telling me you haven't dealt with a scary ghost before?' I asked, with a weird look. One that he could see, due to the darkness of the room, despite the fact that it was daytime.

'Well . . . I can usually see them,' he said ruefully. Oh yeah, that. 'And Jesse's with me.'

My mouth fell open angrily. 'Am I not as good as Jesse?' I demanded jerkily.

He went to answer, but several more BANGS put all words out of his mind. 'Jack,' I said, 'It's cool – go hug Paul, he looks like he needs a hug, okay? Just – '

Slater iron grip . . . ugh, I could barely breathe.

That was when there was a gentle flare of light from beside me. I blinked unsurely, before I could definitely say it was there. Paul was holding a glowing sphere of light in the palm of his hand.

'Oooh,' I murmured.

'I can't so much, they've got a block,' he said.

. . . Huh?

'What? Writer's block?'

'Constipation?' Jack asked innocently.

'No,' Paul grumbled. 'Astral block . . . oh Jesus – Jesse hasn't covered that with you yet? And you,' I could see him turn to me, 'You should know about it, at least.'

'Well,' I retorted, 'I don't.'

Paul groaned. 'God . . . Okay, whatever. There is a blockade surrounding this room. Sort of like a force field if you will. Powerful ghosts can manage it. It blocks out the source of our shifting abilities . . . the astral plane. You see, when we use our powers, we have to call them. I call it astral block . . . it pretty much leaves us powerless from within. But, with a great amount of strength and concentration, you can sometimes break it.'

. . . Over the head and WHOOSH.

'Um, yep. Okay – '

BANG!

I flinched again, as did Jack. The light in Paul's hand was growing weaker. Ugh, trust him to be lacking strength and concentration. This astral block shit was totally news to me, and he just, what, expected me to know it? From who? The Mediator Weekly? HE was the one that was supposed to have covered this in our shifting lessons, so long ago. It wasn't MY fault that I ended up hating him before we could get to this little detail.

I was kind of scared. I know . . . horrid. But shut up, even the best of us get freaked.

These ghosts were no amateurs. That was for sure.

'Look, Paul,' I whispered, 'I have an idea. It's probably crappy, but whatever.'

'I'm open.'

'We're both shifters, right? Well, maybe we can produce something that can break this . . . astral block thingie. Grab my hand and do that light thing again.'

He didn't move.

'Don't worry, I'll sanitize it after,' I assured him. 'Or amputate my arm entirely. Just come on.'

It was half-rewarding, half-horrible when I felt his warm hand come to my cold, clammy one. Ugh, trust me to get all sweaty when evil, hot guys grab my hands. Ugh, screw perspiration. His fingers entwined with mine, and something very weird happened to my heart. I didn't know what it was, so I just ignored it.

Stupid heart . . . who needs it?

Then, I could feel concentration of some kind coming from his hand, so I then started concentrating too. On what, I had no idea. I didn't know what I was doing, I was just winging it. Whatever "it" was.

Then, I got all excited when a little light started. It was getting stronger and stronger. I fueled it along with my thoughts, as Paul did. I didn't have a clue what was happening, or why, or how, but I knew something definitely was. Paul's hand tightened on mine, and I could feel his fingertips sinking into the back of my hand, so it was starting to hurt. The light we were making was growing, casting a warm white glow in the room. I could almost feel the astral block thingie, shutting down. Again, I didn't know how, but it was like there was too much gravity in the room, and as this light was getting stronger, it was becoming normal again.

Jack's eyes were wide in fascination. Bet JESSE didn't teach him THIS.

I jammed my eyes shut, willing the block to fade. I could feel a horrible pressure building up behind my eyes, and it was starting to take over my head. I felt like I was crushing Paul's hand in return. I began visualizing like, an army of little Susies, totally running at a big sign that said "ASTRAL BLOCK."

Shut up. It floated my boat.

I concentrated harder, and harder . . . but it was like we were stuck, and we could get any stronger than that. No, the gravity in the room was getting heavier again, and I felt winded.

So, for the hell of it, I felt Jack's hand come on top of mine and Paul's.

That helped. The block was weakening again. It was like Tug-of-War . . . we were winning.

But again we were stuck. It was now positively painful. There was a dull orar in my head, one that I felt inclined to share with the world. Things around the room started shaking, and I started yelling, because it hurt, and Jack started yelling too, and we just needed one thing – ONE THING to push it, to tug this rope to our side . . . my blood was pumping in my veins loudly, as I summoned every bit of my concentration that existed within me.

Break . . . break . . . break, BREAK –

Paul then yelled out too. There was a dazzling explosion of vibrant light that I could see even through my closed eyelids, and a noise which no person could ever stand to hear, a collective of their shouts and what seemed a clamor of shrieks from unearthly creatures. Paul, Jack and I were blown back, flying flat against the ground.

And the block was gone. I knew it, Paul knew it, Jack knew it.

Everything in the room was still. The light faded as quickly as it had flashed. The presence was gone.

Not . . . you know, gone. But defeated.

For now.

'Holy shit,' panted Jack.

'Watch your language,' I replied.

'Holy shit,' breathed Paul.

'You both suck,' I glared.

Jack, Paul and myself were all lying flat on the ground of a classroom in a haunted school, breathing hard. I imagined that I wasn't the only one with a massive headache.

'Wow,' I said. 'We did that?'

'It worked,' Paul said. 'Well done, Suze.'

I totally didn't need his congratulations. I just needed for this pounding in my head to take a break. Paul stood up, brushing off his pants and his business shirt, and he helped Jack up. Then, he offered me a hand. I stared at it as if it were covered in bacteria, and got to my feet independently. He grinned at me darkly, and again, I felt my skin prickle in warning.

'Jack, are you okay?' I asked.

He gave me a little grimace. 'Well . . . I'm kinda hungry . . . my head IS kind of hurting, and my throat is pretty sore . . . and my arm hurts . . . ' he looked up at me hopefully, 'I might have a dislocated shoulder, just maybe?'

I smiled warmly at him. He was so ADORABLE. 'Okay, Jack. We're outa here.'

Paul shoved the cabinet out of the way, and I nodded, and stopped smiling. That may have been because he was totally playing it up, you know, the whole, this-is-taking-my-superior-muscles-and-strength-to-move-this-heavy-piece-of-furniture thing. I shot him a I-hope-the-cabinet-gets-possessed-and-tips-over-and-squashes-you-like-a-pancake look, and opened the now accessable door, and stalked out, with Jack's hand in mine. His wasn't warm like Paul's. It was cold, and I didn't blame him in the least.

'Come on, Jack,' I said to him, 'We need lots of chocolate.'

There was a cough behind me. 'Forgetting someone?'

I ignored it, but kind of couldn't any longer when Paul MATERIALIZED in front of me. I choked on the wad of spit in my mouth, and squeezed Jack's hand really hard accidentally.

'Gotta love that aspect of shifting,' he smirked down at me, his icy eyes immobilizing me. Oh, great. Trust Paul to come out of a near-death experience and still want to torture me. Won't he EVER grow up?!

'I was gonna wait for you,' Jack began frenziedly, 'But Suze was kidn of pushy – '

'Shut up, Jack,' I growled.

Jack, um, shut his, um, mouth.

To Paul, who was still standing right over me, I said, 'Well? Move?'

And so he did. He, very slowly, began walking backwards. Oh, great. He wasn't even looking if he was going to trip or anything. Why couldn't we have brought Spike, so the stupid ugly cat could have leapt out right then to trip Paul over? God knows he doesn't do anything else. I was feeling unnerved, though, because of how Paul was smiling at me. Like he knew secrets that I had yet to find out about myself.

Dangerous secrets.

'Um,' I said intelligently.

'You're a weirdo, Paul,' Jack grinned at his big bro, and he yanked his hand out of mine. Thirteen going on thirty. Just like Jennifer Garner.

'Why, thank you Jackie ol' boy,' Paul nodded graciously, grinning right back, before locking his glacial eyes on mine again, making me feel like I'd been slipped through the thin ice on the top of a frozen lake. Cold, cold, cold . . .

I was getting really, really nervous, trying to look everywhere but at Paul. He was being a TOTAL JERK. He was totally watching me squirm and blush and avoid him and everything, and he was having a jolly good time, too. Playing games with me. Games that went much further than Scrabble.

He was playing games with my mind.

'So, Agent Spanish Sweetheart,' he said. It took me a moment he was mocking the whole "querida" thing. 'What's our action plan now?'

'Well . . . uh . . . how about . . . no more exploring?' I suggested lamely.

Jack snorted. 'Duh,' he said.

Paul chuckled, and abruptly stopped, so I totally ran into him. I breathed sharply as I collided with his hard, warm chest, and he just smirked down at me some more, his eyes swirling with dark secrets and damaging mysteries.

'Uh . . . I'm gonna go,' I said. 'Jack, you want to come and get something to eat, or hang with Paul?'

Come and eat . . . come and eat . . .

'I'll stay with Paul,' he shrugged.

Damn.

Paul's Suze-degrading smirk widened. Jack continued. 'I mean, he's not scared of cockroaches.'

I shot Jack a poisonous look, and then stalked off down the hallway, on my own. I vaguely heard Paul laughing my name, but only for a minute.

FINE, Paul . . . you wanna play GAMES?

Well, yeah. Let the games . . . begin.

The day dragged by, with nothing else happening, really. I totally avoided Paul and even Jack, because I was too ashamed to face them again. I didn't know what I had to be ashamed for, except getting the wig with cockroaches, but still . . . I was totally going to get Paul back, somehow. He didn't have the right to keep playing with me in this way. It wasn't fair. I had to do something to defend myself.

God knows I couldn't whenever Cole had a go at me . . .

It was night now.

After the whole science room thing, I think I was officially freaked. I mean . . . for a first job for the SIA, this was pretty harsh. I didn't think that the hauntings would be this intense. I mean, I've seen angry ghosts before . . . but these ones, it was like they truly enjoyed messing around. Making us suffer. I mean, spurting blood from showers? Ew factor, 100 percent? Yeah. It was gross. As far back as I could remember, I don't think that I'd ever come across a dwelling that was so strongly under demonic possession by its inhabiting ghost.

Fortunaschwein was the worst.  
  
This ­ghost – or ghosts, as I had definitely come to believe – had the power to make us like, see things that weren't there. It happened before, but only some of the most powerful ones could do it. And considering Jesse's been around for some time, (you know, almost a bicentennial boy and all) and he couldn't do it, we had to give Fortunaschwein's one some credit. I mean . . . yeah. The thing that bewildered me the most is why he – yeah, I'd figured out that it was a guy, thank you – wouldn't show himself. I mean, what did he have to hide? Man boobs, or something? It was getting kind of scary, that I didn't know who was doing all these things. Like on I Know What You Did Last Summer, how that guy with the hook kept chasing Sarah Michelle Gellar around in the dark coat and stuff, and how I was totally scared shitless – shut up... - but when he was trying to kill Jennifer Love Hewitt without the coat on, I was like, "Um . . . so?" because we'd seen his face and it wasn't scary anymore. But this ghost had died when Sarah and Jennifer were still in nappies, so I couldn't understand it . . .  
  
So annoying.  
  
But whatever. I was totally wandering around the fourth floor, again. Stupid of me, considering I now knew that the ghosts here were completely PSYCHO and SADISTIC.  
  
With the possible exception of Jesse, you know?  
  
Possible.  
  
Oh, stop whimpering, ladies. I'm kidding. Jesse's a kitten, okay? Jesus . . . so defensive, I swear. Say anything against the Latino lap-dancer, and you all freak, don't you? So typical . . . defend the heartbreaker, why don't you?  
  
But whatever. I was ducking into all the rooms along the dusty hallway. I seriously needed to put in a word to Mr Head to, I dunno, get a CLEANER? I mean, if I totally had allergies to dust, I could sue him and leach millions off of him, because, what this place lacked in excitement, it made up in dust. Not the best compensation, if you ask me, but hey, who am I to talk?  
  
. . . Not that I'm dusty. Oh, please.  
  
I was aiming my flashlight all around. Some lights were on, some had blown, some worked for a second and then switched off independently, and some kept flickering. So yeah, me and my trusty flashlight. When all else was dark, I always had my flashlight to show me the way.  
  
Unless, I, you know, ran out of batteries or something.  
  
That would completely suck.  
  
I aimed the strong beam around the half empty rooms. Occasionally, I'd walk into a room with all its contents draped in white sheets. It was kind of freaky. I could have sworn that some of the sheets moved, but when I shone my light at them, they were still.  
  
Except that dust was drifting down . . .  
  
Creepy.  
  
And others had doors that wouldn't even open. Nice. I mean, half of the rooms were locked, which totally sucked. But I didn't have any keys – apparently, Father Dom had them – so yeah. And since when was he supposed to know that I was breaking his rules and roaming the old school without a partner?  
  
Since never, I say.  
  
Rules . . . they're only made to be broken. Doesn't he, as a principal, KNOW that by now?  
  
Ha, rules, laws . . . same diff right?  
  
I hope. Or I'm totally going to start feeling bad at how many times those lovely words "breaking and entering" come up on my police record.  
  
Well . . . they would, if I got caught every time I did it, that is.  
  
Finally, I came to a room that was about forty or something down from the stairs, which was in the center of the house, on ever floor. How gay is that . . . only one major set of stairs? Sure, they had one at the end of each floor, but it was locked. Hello? Fire emergency exists, much? Jeez . . . 1969 people those days . . . But yeah. This room was pretty much the same as all the others. You know, had a fancy bed and a cupboard and a dresser and stuff. I'd come to the conclusion that all rooms on the fourth floor were either specialist classrooms or dormitories for the rich snobs, or teachers. I mean, yeah, they were totally prissy. Chandeliers? What was the deal? How rude was that, though, having class distinction among students? The rich kids got first dibs on everything, and the poor ones got treated like orphans from Oliver Twist?  
  
Didn't seem right to me, how SOME people in life got EVERYTHING.  
  
No NAMES, or anything, PAUL.  
  
Sigh. I dunno. It's just like, a total karmic imbalance. I tried to do everything right, and I got everything wrong. Don't we get points for making the effort, or something? Or is it like the exams – we only get marked for the results that we get. I was getting marked down for making the mistakes, and the fact that I'd been trying to do the right things were being completely ignored.  
  
By who, I didn't know, and didn't want to have anything to do with. God? Who says there is one? Fate? Gimme a break. Angels? Yeah, and I earn a million every year, reeeeeally.  
  
I had no guardian angel. Just a stupid ghost who dumped me and now decided, "oh . . . oops . . . lets start again, shall we?"  
  
How about . . . no.  
  
Whoa. How off track can I get?  
  
It seemed like my mind was wandering more than usual. Sorry, I was just pissed. At who, I could never guess. I mean, there's just so many rich, arrogant, high-powered, hot, infuriating, malicious lawyers around to choose from, right? Totally. This whole thing sucked. The fact that he had some rich and famous girlfriend – yeah, I Googled her the night before we came here. And do you know what the first image that came up was? For Danielle Moore? A nude one. She is an online slut. I mean, just because she's that confident with the big twins on her chest, doesn't mean she has to broadcast 'em across the internet, for CHRIST'S SAKE – and I had no one.  
  
Except a psycho stalker who was, incidentally, psychotic.  
  
Or at least, you know, a major jerk.  
  
(A/N: Lolly just Googled "Danielle Moore" and came up with this, snigger.   
  
and EWWW! . . . kill me, I, Lolly, have no life.)  
  
And here I was, in a room on the empty fourth floor of an old boarding school, pretty much a sitting duck for this freaking ghost. Because I was alone.  
  
I've always been alone.  
  
No matter what Paul says.  
  
It's the curse of being Susannah Simon, shifter, ex-Starbucks employee, Juniperro Serra Mission graduate.  
  
Being alone.  
  
Always being on my own.  
  
And it wasn't fair.  
  
I hadn't cried in a while. At least I had that to be glad of. Hell, it had been a whole two or three days since I'd shed a tear. That's pretty good for me, you know. I think the longest I'd gone without crying was about thirty eight days, once. Everything and anything upset me now. I know, I know. Let's all point and laugh at the loser. The loner. The miserable dork. You know the one. With the issues? And the bad temper? The one that used to be so good at defending herself. The one who now has a bruise on her cheek from some stupid guy, because she was too scared to kick his ass. The one with no life. The one with a past, but no future. The one who sucks more than it has been deemed possible to suck.  
  
You know the girl . . . Suze Simon.  
  
The one who couldn't even hold onto the guy she loved with all her heart, soul and strength. The one who lost it all . . .  
  
And it just wasn't fair.  
  
I blinked vaguely, as my thoughts seemed to be mere breaths in my mind, taunting me and goading me. My own brain betrayed me now. I doubt that there's anyone that I can really trust . . . Adam, CeeCee, Father Dom, Jack, sure. But God, not Paul or Dani.  
  
Not even Jesse.  
  
And it totally didn't help that I was, save Jack, the shortest person here. Seriously, Dani was just over six feet. I'm not even kidding. You know, she had a lot in common with the Eiffel Tower. Tall, thin, and totally snobby. I guess that was one of the reasons I didn't like her. I mean, ignoring the high cheekbones and that her eyes were kind of ugly – except when she made them up, then they looked amazing – and everything, Dani was stunning. With her flaming red hair and her teeny yet tall body, she was a total man-eater. You could tell. She was perfect. A model. An archetype of a girlfriend. Nip-and-tucked perfection.  
  
I couldn't be called perfect in a million years.  
  
I gazed out the window, blinking still. My eyes felt sore, like opening them too far would cause them to sting. They felt so tired, even though I technically wasn't. My sleeping had been bad, but at least I'd gotten over four hours now. MY eyelids felt as though they carried the weight of the world.  
  
Out the window, was a world of darkness. The moon couldn't be seen – it was probably behind me – and trees stretched up to the navy blue sky. Stars didn't even bother to grace the inky heavens, and thick, dark clouds blanketed the potential stars that could have been twinkling. In the far distance, I could see the skeletal outline of the gate at the entrance of the Fortunaschwein Ex-Boarding School for Boys. It too, rose high, in a condemnatory way, like we were now all prisoners.  
  
I kept staring blankly out –  
  
Oh my God.  
  
There was something moving out there. I just – I just saw it. There was a little flash of light, and –  
  
. . . There was someone out there. Black shapes were moving slowly. I stared, and watched with wide eyes, trying to see. It was too dark. I didn't know who or what or why, but there was DEFINITELY someone – two people, at least – out there.  
  
And a flashlight. A flashlight had dropped on the ground. I could see the pinprick of light, even from here.  
  
Without another thought, I spun on my heal and ran from the room, with a heart as tight as a drum. I could feel it hammering horribly like one, with commanding beats that seemed to echo so loudly my ribs felt like they wanted to shatter. Who had that been? With the fallen flashlight, out the front? The black figures? WHO?!  
  
After about five minutes of strenuous running, I finally made it outside. I was standing on the exterior of Fortunaschwein, and I squinted into the distance. Just then, I heard a loud thud, as if something were falling to the ground. My instincts told me to stay as far away as possible, but my conscience told me to make a run for it.  
  
So I did. I ran as fast as possible, and much to my horror, I saw the limp form of Father Dominic in his black priest's gear on the ground.  
  
With a very alarming head wound on his forehead.  
  
And I definitely knew, that this blood wasn't an illusion.

NOW LONG REVIEWS OR WE SHALL SMITE YOUR FIRSTBORNS.

Kidding.

OR ARE WE?!

Teehee.

Love you all,

LOLLY AND HAYLEY!!!


	10. Persecuted

My heart seized up as I bolted to Father Dominic's limp body.

Blood.

There was just all this blood gushing from the large gash in his head. And the other thing . . . he wasn't moving. Not good. So totally NOT GOOD. Yeah, if the way that my heart stopped beating, right there and then, was any indication.

No . . . NOOO!!!

I knelt over him and turned him over. His white hair was stained with red from all of the blood on his forehead. I could tell he hadn't been out there long because the blood was still wet and sticky when I touched it. A little of it got on my fingers, and I stared at it in horror, my mouth hanging open as a scream urged to escape my petrified lips. It reflected darkly in the dull moonlight from behind me.

This was not happening.

No.

Not to Father Dominic.

Not the holiest man on this Earth.

Not my role model, my father figure, my mentor . . . my friend –

'Don't be dead,' I pleaded in a terrified whisper as I shook him, 'please, please, please, don't be dead.' I shook harder, and harder, until I started to have serious trouble breathing. My world, it was shattering. Like brick through a window. Shards were falling to the ground, and cutting me as they descended.

I always got cut.

I seized his cold, limp wrist and searched desperately for his pulse. I felt a subtle beating, slow and barely there.

Oh God . . . he was alive – but relief didn't grace me yet, because I wasn't sure for how long he would be. Shut up, I'm NOT overdramatizing! Dark blood was slowly flowing down his forehead, into the valleys in his left eye, down the side of his nose, along his top lip, before falling in slow, deathly slow drips on the ground. I started truly hyperventilating. I couldn't get enough air . . . My head was clouding in dark black mist and my hands were cold and shaking.

I was freaking way, WAY out.

I – I needed an ambulance – QUICKLY!

I dug in my pocket for my cell – but it was IN MY ROOM!!!

NOOOOO!!!

Panicking enough for seven people, I gasped sharply as bitterly cold air sliced the inside of my lungs, and looked at the comatose Father Dominic in horror. 'Wake up!' I screamed once more time, but it was fruitless.

I needed to get to a phone . . . I needed to call someone to help him . . . but I couldn't just LEAVE HIM ALONE OUT HERE. And it was a LONG WAY back to the front of the school!

I definitely couldn't just go, and leave him lying on the ground, where someone could finish him off . . . no way . . .

NO WAY.

I saw that his flashlight wasn't on anymore . . . it had been crushed. Stepped on. It was broken.

Bending down, I threw my hands around his barely breathing waist, and started dragging him along the dirty, dead ground back to the school with a body that was shaking so badly, cell-phones on vibrate looked inanimate. Now no offense, but Father Dom could have totally laid off the sacramental bread, because he was TOTALLY heavier than I thought he'd be. I was SO scared that I was hurting him, or that a stick would suddenly jab in his rib or whatever . . .

It was taking too long! WAY, WAY, WAY TOO LONG! I stopped, clapping my hand over my mouth to stop the moan that wanted to grace the world, and then kind of tried draping his right arm over my shoulder, and dragging him that way. But the guy was dead weight. It was SO hard . . . but I kept going. That superhuman strength that they say people get – you know, on CNN and stuff – when there's a crisis? Yeah, I think I had that. Just like when Jack was going to fall to his messy death.

And it's a total plus, because by GOD, there was no way I would have been able to carry Father Dom back up to Fortunaschwein without that extra boost of power, motivated by my terror that FATHER DOM wouldn't make it . . .

My head was rushing fifty miles a minute. I was just drifting along like I was on autopilot, just going through all the motions without even really thinking. Because the only thing on my mind was getting Father Dominic in that door and into a hospital.

When I finally reached the door, I kicked it open as hard as I could with nearly 195 pounds of dying priest draped on my shoulders. I set him down quickly against one of the walls, allowing that to support him. I noticed he was looking a little more pale than he should.

'Stay there,' I told him unnecessarily. I didn't really expect him to respond, but it kind of scared me. I mean, it'd be a whole lot better if he just stood up, wiped the blood off of his face and said, "Susannah. I am afraid you have just been Punk'd."

Except this, unlike the stuff Ashton Kutcher tried to pull, was not funny in the least.

I ran through the entrance hall and yelled, calling to anyone and everyone for a phone. Everything was kind of blurred, and ghostly. Darker than I'd ever imagined it to be. But the house, though full of people and paranormal activity, seemed incredibly empty. I looked back at Father Dom in his black alb and snowy white hair. I could still see him, getting smaller as I ran further down the hall at a speed I was sure would have gotten me a detention, had I been a student here. Father Dom looked like a gruesome painting, from far away. Something truly haunting . . . I could feel the potential death even from here. And then there was the crimson red of blood flowing down his pale face.

Just then, my morbid mind threw at me the old joke, "What's black and white and red all over?"

That was when it hit me, with full force. Father Dom could die . . . and I was MAKING JOKES.

Father Dom could die . . . and being the holy man that he was, he'd have no reason to stay here. He'd move on, and THEN who would I have.

No one. No one at all. I'd be all alone, just as I always was.

Horrified beyond all extent of the psychological imagination, I continued to run.

I always run.

. . . Only this time, I hit a hard wall, and knocked it over, landing on top of it. Whoa . . . I didn't know I had it in me. Knocking over walls, and all – wait a minute . . . that wasn't a wall . . .

'I know you want to kill me, but I believe there are better tactics than running over me,' Paul smirked from below me.

I lifted my head, feeling horrified, still. I couldn't muster myself to be embarrassed or disgusted because I was way too SCARED about Father Dom to push myself off of him. My eyes, I knew, were huge. They were stinging, I had them opened so wide. I was utterly horrified. Father Dom had been attacked. He had a head wound. He could get brain-damage. He could fall into a coma –

I stuttered, 'P-Paul. Paul, it's – he's . . . he can't . . . I need a phone – he's –'

I WAS CHOKING UP, DAMN IT.

Paul stopped sneering at me, and he rested his hands on my shoulders and looked up at me. 'Suze, calm down. Repeat, and this time, use complete sentences.'

'Father Dom . . . he's hurt,' was all I could say before I burst into tears. Right in front of Paul Slater. Right ON TOP of him, in fact. I didn't even know I was crying until I noticed that Paul had turned into a blurry blob, and I saw a little darker spot of blue on his shirt, from a teardrop. I was THAT scared.

Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . –

I couldn't really tell how Paul was taking this piece of information, because of the whole teary-eyed thing. But if the way his chest sort of inflated as he took a sharp breath were any indicator, I'd say he was pretty damn shocked. He quickly, but gently, pushed me off of him – ugh . . . – and scrambled to his feet, also hauling me up as well.

I was shivering violently, literally shaking as I tried so hard to explain what had happened, to Paul. I couldn't seem to find the words so I ended up saying something like: 'Bleeding . . . ambulance . . . needs . . . head.'

Which sounded kind of gross when you look back on it.

Paul, surprisingly, was very patient with me and my emotional psycho babble. He placed his warm hand on mine and asked hurriedly, 'Where is he?'

For someone who was so cold-blooded . . . he was so warm all the time . . .

I looked tearfully into those intense blue eyes and tried not to look away. It was weird because I was afraid that if I did look away, I might start bawling again, which would not – I know – ensure Father Dominic's well being. I had to stay strong.

'He's by the front door,' I inhaled sharply, 'and his head is . . . it's covered in b-blood. Lots of blood . . . we have to call 911, Paul. We have to call it NOW!'

I had grabbed Paul by the arm and was dragging him somewhere. I really didn't know where, because my body was just talking over, while my brain was having some sort of brutal meltdown. I felt appalled. How could Father Dom just GET HIMSELF WHACKED ON THE HEAD? HOW COULD HE?!?!? I DIDN'T HAVE A PHONE!!!

FATHER DOM WAS GOING TO DIE –

Paul stopped me, however and said, 'Suze. I have a phone.'

Oh . . . yeah.

With the swiftness and grace that could only have been pinned to James Bond, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket, dialed it, and put it to his ear.

I felt a feeble flutter of relief flush over me as Paul spoke to the people on the other line. I watched how Paul was handling the whole situation with such a calm and business-like manner. Exactly how he handled any other situation, good or bad.

Except . . . some that I remembered, despite the bad timing.

I wanted – for some strange and unfathomable reason – I wanted to be Paul just then. It was just the way he exuded confidence as if it were being released from his pores or something. The way nothing ever phased him . . . almost as if he'd been there, done that. He had such poise, such composure, that it made me jealous.

Jealous enough to forget all about poor DYING DOMMY.

Chiding myself for letting my guard down, I fled over to Father Dominic with dramatic urgency. I just hoped he was still alive when I came back.

I stopped by his side and plopped to my knees beside him, praying to God (or Buddha, or ANYONE that cared) that he would be all right.

I took off my white sweater without thinking, and used it to wipe the blood from Father Dom's face. I had some glimmer of regret, but I totally realized that he was WAY more important than my white sweater that had gone on clearance for 75 off.

His face – an alarmingly pale colour – was now smeared with red. Dark lines of blood were caught in his wrinkles, and he looked . . . dead. Seriously, like he had just died. With an explosion of newly found panic, I seized his wrist and held it, trying to find his pulse again. It was so faint . . .

'Please, please, wake up . . . ' I panted at him, 'Please . . . ' I leant against him, and hugged him tightly. I didn't want to let go. I was doing a total Kate Winslet, Titanic, but I didn't give a shit. I didn't want to let go . . .

He was so still . . . and cold . . .

I shut my eyes tightly, with one ear against Father Dom's chest.

Paul's calm voice jarred my senses again. 'It looks like he has a huge gash on his head . . . Yes . . . No, I don't know what happened . . . He's around 65 . . . No, I don't know if he has heart trouble . . . '

What was Father Dom's last name? I never thought he needed a last name . . . he said it once . . . I couldn't remember . . .

'Just bring someone here NOW!' Paul yelled into the phone, making me flinch.

Everyone has a breaking point.

I always break . . .

I buried my face into Father Dom's chest, as a roar in my head started its mournful cry. Everything was drowned out – noises, voices, footsteps – all I could hear was this screaming in my own mind. I couldn't think, or see, or hear, or breathe . . .

I could feel the urgency.

It was always urgent . . .

'Someone will be here as fast as possible . . .'

I think that's what he said. I couldn't tell – I was already drowning in my head. I think I'd stopped breathing about twenty seconds ago, and the need for oxygen was dwindling the roaring that I alone could hear . . .

' . . . Wake up . . . ' I whispered into his robes, and moved my legs so they were next to his awkwardly placed ones. I willed him to wake up . . .

'Suze, calm down. We need to prop his head.'

Again, Paul Slater's voice sounded far away and indistinct. I wasn't listening. I didn't move. I stayed as close as I could to Father Dom. I was so scared . . . not Father Dom. God, if he d - . . . you know, died or something, I would totally sue God, just like Billy Connolly did. I mean, after EVERYTHING Father Dom has done for the Big Guy, you know, the whole priest/giving-up-marriage-and-sex-and-big-red-cars thing, you'd think that God would cut him a LITTLE slack? JUST A LITTLE?!?!

BUT NO. HE HAS TO GO SEND AN ASSASSIN TO SLICE DOM'S FOREHEAD OPEN.

OH MY GOD, GOD HAS A MAFIA!!! JUST LIKE THE ITALIANS!!!

RELIGION IS A CONSPIRACY, I TELL YOU!

WE ARE ALL GOING TO GET MURDERED IN OUR BEDS BY A PLAGUE OF BUGS – possibly cockroaches just to piss me off – IF WE DON'T PAINT OUR DOORPOSTS WITH THE BLOOD OF LAMBS!

GOD IS A TOTAL F –

'Suze, come on.' I felt a finger tap me on the shoulder gently. I ignored it. I kept whispering, 'Wake up, wake up, wake up . . . '

'Suze, listen to me, he's going to be all right,' Paul said calmly. HE WAS SO CALM. HE DIDN'T EVEN CARE. I BET THAT FATHER DOM COULD TOTALLY JUST DIE RIGHT HERE AND HE WOULDN'T BAT AN EYELID. HE'D BE ALL LIKE, "SO?" AND I'D BE LIKE, "I HATE YOU" AND HE'D BE ALL LIKE, "SO????" AND I'D PUNCH HIM IN THE NUTS AND THEN HE'D, UM, KIND OF CARE.

SWEET JESUS, HE'S A DICKHEAD!!!

'Come on . . . you need to get off of him, you could be making his breathing worse.'

I WAS MAKING HIS BREATHING WORSE. I WAS KILLING FATHER DOMINIC.

I AM A MURDERER!!! I WAS MURDERING FATHER D. AND PAUL TOTALLY IS GOING TO SUE ME ON ONE COUNT OF HOMICIDE AND I AM GOING TO HAVE TO STAND UP IN COURT AND HE'S TOTALLY GOING TO SAY HOW I DUMPED HIM FIVE YEARS AGO AND THAT I SHOULD BE SENT TO PRISON BECAUSE I WAS A TIGHT-ASSED BI-POLAR BITCH WITH A MURDEROUS RAGE –

I looked up at Dommy's strained face, and I jerked away from him as if he'd caught fire. I SO didn't want to make anything worse! His forehead had another trickle of blood running down into his left eye, and I grimaced horribly.

My breathing was now positively painful.

THANKS A BUUUUUUNCH, GOD.

Not Father Dom . . . he was like . . . my unofficial dad or something –

I leant back against the wall, beside Father Dom. His shoulder was touching mine. He was barely breathing. WHAT IF HE NEEDED CPR? EWW.

In a harsh whisper, I babbled to myself, 'What if Father Dom dies . . . then it would be my fault for not finding him earlier . . . for going away after dinner, for dragging him here . . . making him stay when I knew it was too dangerous, for being so selfish, for – '

'Suze, you're shaking.'

I looked down at my hands, and saw that they were still shaking.

Badly.

I tried to slow down my breathing, but I couldn't. I really, really couldn't. I tried, I swear I did, but it wouldn't slow down. In, out, in, out, sharp, sore, blood, die, my fault, ambulance . . .

My eyes were drawn back to Father Dom's practically dead face. I've seen happier expressions on people in coffins.

Father Dominic isn't supposed to die. He's too holy to die. Someone who was that filled with the grace of God- wherever one might acquire that- DESERVED to be immortal.

But since Dommy happened to be sent to this earth to become a faulty human, he had to die. It was the circle of life, you know.

I would have expected that with what Father Dominic had accomplished in his life, that he would at least die when he was a hundred and two or something. You know, a really old guy that can't even remember his name or where he was born or anything.

At the time, that didn't look possible. Instead of dying peacefully in his sleep, like he DESERVED, he was about to die from a brutal attack.

He was INNOCENT. He NEVER deserved this. NEVER.

I stared in horror . . . this was the guy who always gave me the baby blues of disapproval, the guy who told me not to beat up people when I got irritated . . . violence was not the answer.

God . . . Father D was more of a father to me than the Heavenly Father ever could be.

WHERE WAS JESSE? I THOUGHT THAT HIM AND FATHER DOMINIC WERE PARTNERS. IT'S HIS FAULT, TOO.

Maybe Jesse DID THIS.

. . . Shut up, Suze.

With that, an involuntary gasp was ripped cruelly from my throat. Oh my God . . . Paul heard that . . . he's going to give me a weird look . . . and Father Dom's going to never wake up . . . this is all my fault . . .my eyes were so wide . . . they were stinging . . .

They always sting . . .

Paul's face blocked my view of oblivion. 'Suze . . . hey, look, you have to calm down,' he said. I searched every inch of his tone for scorn, or sarcasm. I could have sworn I heard a little bit. Seriously, at a time like THIS, he was SCORNFUL and SARCASTIC.

WHAT A RODENT!

I looked hopelessly into his eyes. They definitely held no scorn. Just . . . surprise. As if he was surprised at how I was reacting.

I tore my gaze away, and looked sideways at Father Dom. He'd be okay . . . the ambulance was on its way . . . nurses were going to come bustling through the gate with stretchers and –

THE GATE! IT WAS LOCKED!

I squealed, and scurried to my feet, racing to the door, as the roaring in my head started up again, in volumes so horrendous I could hardly stand it. I ran messily, but ordered myself NOT TO FALL APART. I couldn't. I wouldn't let myself. I didn't have the right to do that. NOT WHEN THE GATE WAS LOCKED.

Blood was pounding so rapidly in my head I thought it was literally going to split right down the center.

Dizziness . . .

BUT THE GATE. I HAD TO OPEN THE GATE.

As soon as I got past the Fortunaschwein Door, I quickly covered the long distance between the school and the gate. My head was thudding, and roaring, and moaning, and I was crying again, and I couldn't think, and my heart wouldn't beat, and my breathing was too shallow, and I needed more oxygen, and I couldn't see properly, and FATHER DOMINIC COULD DIE.

'Wait . . . where the hell are you going?' Paul yelled from somewhere behind me . . . from somewhere . . .

Time . . . space . . . it didn't seem to matter . . . I couldn't hear right, or see straight, or think logically . . .

'The gate!' I screamed back hysterically, 'I have to open it! For the ambulance! Otherwise they won't be able to – '

Hey, punk. You're smart, you figure it out.

'You can't open the gate. It's too heavy – '

Too heavy. Too hard. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Too weak . . . too stupid . . . too sad . . . too pathetic . . . too dead . . .

'I can,' I whispered to myself. I finally reached the gate, in its black, iron, five meter glory. The bulky chain was back. There were no keys . . . Swallowing, I frantically looked around, and got the shock of my life when I conveniently saw an AXE, almost right next to the gate. "Yeah, sure," you say. "That was thrown in just for plot use, and in real life, an axe wouldn't be lying around a school."

That's what I would have thought . . . if I could think. So, I dived at it, and, ignoring the dark red marks on the handle, I swung it back, and with all the strength and willpower and desperation that was swarming within me, I gave it an almighty swing, and broke the chain right off. It slunk to the ground once again. With even quicker, shallower breaths than before – I was now receiving a dangerously low oxygen level – I rammed at the gate . . .

. . . But it was too heavy.

Correction: WAY too heavy.

'No,' I groaned, and rammed it again with my shoulder, and grunted at the absolute pain when I collided with the black poles. It only moved a LITTLE BIT.

If I kept doing it . . . I'd get it open . . . yeah, that was it . . .

So I kept ramming the gate. At great expense of my shoulder, which shrieked in protest at point of contact. I didn't stop. It was almost obsessive-compulsive. I couldn't even feel my shoulder anymore . . . I had to open the gate, or Father Dom would lose too much blood, and the ambulance wouldn't be able to save him . . .

I COULD HEAR THEM. I HAD TO HURRY! OR FATHER DOM WAS GOING TO DIE AND IT WOULD BE ALL BECAUSE OF ME.

I shoved the gate, more and more, with all my weight. My left shoulder was dead. It hurt like hell's wrath, I remembered that at some point . . . but I didn't care. Pain is a distraction from a goal. I had a feeling that I'd dislocated my shoulder . . . but I wasn't in my right mind. I was insane, then.

I HAD TO GET THE GATE OPEN.

Ambulance sirens roared louder . . . and I couldn't open it . . .

Someone was calling me . . . but that was drowned out by the pumping of hot blood in my head. I was fading fast.

Hands came to my other arm, and yanked me away from the gate. I panted, my eyes not focused anymore.

'Shit,' I breathed, and I fell back against the metal pipe. I clawed at it with weak fingers on my right hand, and somewhere is space and time, my left shoulder ached beyond words, but I couldn't feel it so much anymore . . .

I'd failed. I couldn't open the fucking gate. I was a loser. I'd killed Father Dom . . .

Hands – Paul's I assumed correctly – pulled me away from the gate. I remembered whimpering, because he'd touched my left arm. He dragged me back, and then turned back to the gate. I vaguely saw him concentrating hard on the imprisoning fence that stood before him . . . and with a HUGE scraping of metal on metal, it was totally blown open. I mean . . . that gate was now warped, demented, broken, un-recyclable, whatever. It was horribly disfigured, but it was out of the way.

Something which I'd failed to do, which Paul could easily manage because he's like a god or something. And I'm just little Susie.

I swayed severely, and with a single blink, I was lying on the dirty ground. My left side. Pain was excruciating. I knew that I was crying, somewhere, but I didn't want to admit it to the part of me that still knew what was happening. Which was a very small part. I shut my eyes. Oooh . . . blissful darkness . . .

'Suze . . . ' So far away . . . 'Suze . . . oh God . . .'

Ambulance sirens . . . thank God. The gate was open, but not by me. But they could get through, Father Dom would be all right –

Determined to stay with it, I sat up. Somehow, I did. 'Go back inside, he might wake up, I'll wait for the ambulance,' I murmured in a voice I thought sounded very cool and collected. I pressed down on my shoulder hard, and with a nasty shock, a horrible wave of pain suddenly shook me. I gasped, and covered my eyes. He saw it, damn it.

'You're still shaking . . . fuck, I'm not leaving you out here, on your own,' Paul snapped angrily.

'I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm FINE, I – '

But I wasn't fine. I couldn't keep doing it. Holding on, I mean. The fear of losing Father Dom was too great, and I couldn't breathe anymore. I really, really, really, really couldn't . . . I tried, but I failed.

I always failed . . .

I was unconscious before my head hit the dirt.

- 8 -

The world became a black hole, and endless cavern of lost hope and darkness of spirit. I could barely hear anything, except for a few voices that seemed so distant . . . so far away. People talking, people crying . . . the whole world was going on without me.

Maybe it would just be better that way.

But then, as I drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, I felt a warm and comfortable feeling. I felt as if I were sleeping on a cloud of feathery softness, and I wasn't cold anymore. It felt just like heaven.

The far away sounds became more and more familiar. The beeping of monitors, the hushed voices of nurses coming in and out, the tapping of footsteps as they glided down the hall in a quietly but quickly.

I knew exactly where I was. I was in a hospital.

Whoa . . . was it possible that the past five years were just a dream- no, a horrible nightmare? That this was all just a little game my sub-conscious was playing with me?

Was I just going to wake up in the hospital, like I had dreamed, only to find that Jesse had been waiting for me all along? That Jesse had never left in the first place, and that finally Paul had?

Everything would be okay. More than okay . . . excellent. I was still seventeen . . . young, bright, beautiful, and full of potential. My boyfriend would be waiting for me when I finally awoke, and we'd kiss and make up, just as it was meant to be. Paul, after saying his good-byes the night before, would never EVER speak to me again. He'd never ruin my life or my love EVER AGAIN.

I could do it all over again. I could make myself something great.

Opening my eyes happily, I noticed that a dozen fresh daisies were sat next to my bed. I could smell their sweet smell. They were probably from Andy. He always knew just what flowers to send for what occasion. He once told me that daisies were only to be employed when you wanted to cheer someone up or wish them a swift recovery . . .

I sat up to reach for the flowers, when I realized that I was, indeed in a hospital. Only . . . this wasn't the hospital near Carmel. The hospital room here was a bit smaller. Everything inside of the room was different. Including me.

I looked down at my hands. They were definitely not the hands of a carefree seventeen-year-old, with their playful coats of bright nail polish and phone numbers on them. They were the tired hands of one who never stopped working. Hands that made latte's, hands that typed up new resumes frequently, hands that shoved many pushy men . . .

Hands of a failure . . .

The room, which had a stream of brilliant sunshine pouring in, suddenly grew darker. The cloud of disappointment had blocked the sun's golden rays, choking the sunshine and killing it.

The day died along with my mood.

But hopefully not with Father Dom –

Father Dom! FATHER DOM! HOLY SHIT!

I wasn't hooked up to any strange monitors or anything, so I was able to jump out of my hospital bed and bolt down the hall with extreme ease. My left shoulder was starting to throb, too. All the more memories came flooding back. I was practically running down the white corridor, praying to God (or, again, anyone that cared) to send me a sign.

Right around the corner came a nurse, dressed in white to match the spotless corridor. I heaved a sigh of relief.

Maybe there is a God after all.

'Excuse me,' I said urgently to the nurse, 'Do you happen to know where I might find a priest? There was one that came in . . . he had suffered from head trauma. Father Dominic?'

Everything was so white . . . just like last time.

So similar to that night.

When Jesse lost all faith in me . . .

'Ma'am, please calm down,' the impeccably dressed nurse replied primly. She too looked too old for her years. As if she'd lost the fun in her life too. Cursed, are we. 'We have a Father Dominic in the next room over.'

'Oh thank you,' I gushed, pumping the cold hand of the nurse in my own. When I was through, she took a long look at me and, noticing my hospital gown, stopped me before I could make it very far past her.

'I assure you that he is fine,' the nurse said with a warm, understanding smile. 'I ask, however, that you please return to your hospital room immediately. We will send word if anything happens.'

Send word? What does that even MEAN? I wasn't going to just wait around for someone to give me WORD, when someone I greatly cared about had just gotten brutally beaten on the head!

I glared at the nurse angrily and stressed stubbornly, 'I'm okay. I'm just DANDY. And . . . I'm also going to see him.'

With that, I firmly brush past her and made my way down the hall. The nurse didn't make any objections, or if she did, then I really didn't hear her put up a fight. Maybe it was the roar of questions and what-ifs that were buzzing through my brain. Or, at least, the worry.

But . . . he was okay . . . he wasn't dead.

I could breathe again.

I stepped into his room, and immediately, my tortured mind was silenced.

There he was . . .

He was lying in the white sheets with a bandage on his head, favouring the injured side. There was no smearing of blood anymore, thank God. His eyes were closed in what looked like pain, and his chest was rising and falling evenly now.

I remembered back to when that crucifix had fallen on him and Bryce in my first year. How he'd been in hospital then. I didn't want to see him here again. Not now, not ever. Someone so good didn't deserve to suffer, at all.

Ha . . . if only I was good, right? If only.

'Hey, Father D,' I smiled sadly, shuffling next to him and brushing my fingers on his arm gently. 'You awake in there, dude?'

I waited . . . for an answer.

But he was obviously still asleep.

OH MY GOD! WHAT IF HE WOKE UP IN A COMA! WHAT IF –

Suze? WAKE UP in a coma? Is that physically possible? To wake UP in a coma –

Ugh. I know. I am dumb. Shut UP.

Then, a groan discomfort broke into my thoughts.

'Oh . . . Who . . . who's that?'

A bubbling rush of warmth accompanied his voice. My sad smile deepened, but I was so relieved . . .

'It's me,' I whispered, 'Suze.' I put my hand on his. It was such a contrast, to see a hand of youth over one of age. His hand was extremely warm. Just like Paul's. His skin was soft and not as taut as mine, and was paler and more worn. Old hands. Holy hands. Exultant hands.

Father Dom's hands.

His fingers wrapped slowly around mine, and I saw his lips twitch up a little, but his attempted smile looked crooked. He was still in pain, and it was killing me. 'What are you doing here?'

'I'm here to see you,' I said in a watery voice. My stomach was churning more and more horribly with each passing second. I felt sicker and sicker with giddy relief. 'Oh God,' I scowled at him, squeezing his hand in annoyance, 'You scared the shit out of me, man! Don't you ever get yourself nearly killed again, or I will kill you!' A passing moment allowed me to realized that it would be hard to "kill him" if he was indeed already dead . . . ugh. Death. I swear, it's so complicated. 'Whatever,' I dismissed, 'What happened?'

I tightened my hand on his a little more anxiously.

He sighed gustily. It was a typical Father Dom sigh. Something that I found strangely reassuring. 'I was trying to find the library when I noticed out of the window that someone was at the gate . . . I went to go see . . . that is all I remember . . . '

He trailed off quietly and frowned in confusion.

I went stiff with anger, very suddenly. Someone tried to attack Father Dom. An old man. A God damned PRIEST.

'Did this person, you know . . . look like a ghost? You know, all glowy and stuff?' I demanded attentively.

'I . . . do not recall a glow . . . I do remember an axe – '

'AN AXE?!?!' I started swearing violently, until he coughed in disapproval. Yeah, like HE didn't utter a couple of four-letter words when the stinking computer malfunctioned.

SOMEONE AXED FATHER DOM?! THIS WAS WAY TOO TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE.

'I believe it was only the handle,' he assured me hurriedly. AN AXE!

'Ugh, thank God, or your brain would totally be all chopped up,' I said gratefully.

Father Dom paused. 'Thank you for that enlightenment, Susannah.'

I shifted uncomfortably. 'Oh . . . sorry.'

'That's quite all right,' he nodded.

There was an awkward moment, until I broke into a babble. 'Well, Father Dom, it's all good now because your head is okay and you're awake and you didn't wake up in a coma – not that you can actually do that because if you woke up in a coma you'd have to be sleeping so it's not actually possible and so now when we get back to the school, I'm so gonna find out who –'

'Susannah.'

' – dared lay a finger on you. Well, it wasn't actually a finger, rather than an axe and stuff, but yeah – '

'Susannah?'

' – and I am going to do so much ass kicking, Paul and Dani will be totally standing on the side, going, "Whoa . . . "but they won't actually see me because I will be so fast in my ass kicking that I will be a blur – '

'Susannah! Stop your endless gibberish,' Father Dom grimaced moodily. Abruptly, I stopped, looking surprised. Jeez . . . and I thought PMS only affected girls.

Hold on . . .

'Father Dom?' I asked suddenly.

'Yes, Susannah?' he sighed, sounding very tired.

'What's Paul's middle name?'

He stared. 'How am I expected to know that?'

I pouted. 'Um, school records, much? Me and him were pretty special people, Father Dom.'

His bandaged forehead wrinkled in thought. 'Uh . . . if my memory serves me correctly, I'd say it was . . . Michael.'

My face lit up in glee.

'As was that Meducci boy . . . Michael also, was he not?'

'Yes,' I gushed with suppressed roars of laughter, 'So Paul's middle name is "Michael" then?'

'Yes – '

'Yes!' I yelled victoriously.

'What – '

'His initials are PMS!' I laughed, 'Ha! I am SO going to – '

'Susannah,' Father Dom stopped me. He had the trace of a grin on his face. 'I . . . ' he halted, and then shook his head, smiling. 'Trust you to think of something like that . . . '

I beamed proudly.

'However,' he said seriously, 'I regret to inform you that I won't be going back to Fortunaschwein . . . '

. . . WHAT?!

'Not yet, anyway,' he said quickly, seeing my outraged expression, 'the doctors say I need to stay here awhile for observation purposes. I'm not as young as I used to be so they need to keep me here.'

'YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BE WITH US AT FORTUNASCHWEIN?!' I exploded at him, 'but – but – I'll go INSANE without – you know, your resident holiness and stuff! We need you, Father Dom! You're like, duct tape! You hold everything together!'

He couldn't NOT be there! He HAD to be there! I would lose ALL of my nerve if he suddenly decided to have a week of SICKIES. I went even paler. 'But . . . without you there . . . Father D, you can't not go back. We have to get rid of the ghosts, Father D. You and me! We have to make them leave! You can't stay here, I can't do it on my own!'

I realized that by then I had leaned over, and I had grabbed him by the scruff of his matching hospital gown, glaring fiercely into his frustrated baby blues. With a flush, I let go, and coughed with deep embarrassment.

He smiled a little, then. 'What happened to the old Susannah? You used to want to do things on your own, without my help. You are plenty capable of finding this ghost, Susannah. You have the whole rest of the SIA . . . together you can talk this ghost into peace.'

The old Susannah?

Great. Everyone preferred HER better.

No, it's not what it sounds like. NO, I am NOT schizophrenic, and NO, I do NOT have an angelic twin whom I killed off and I'm now trying to take her place. Well . . . not that I know of. I am still Susannah Simon. I've just . . . changed.

Only, it seemed, for the worse.

But I totally forgot about the whole SIA. I mean, seriously, who wants to be reminded of Paul and Dani? That's just depressing. Dumb and Dumber. No, wait, PMS and PMSer. Yeah. Oooh, that was definitely snigger-worthy.

'But Father Dom, there's more than one ghost. Really there is. They were chasing me and I heard more than one of them laughing. And plus, I have had other experiences which make me think that there's totally multiple ghosts. And, personally, I really don't think that the rest of the SIA are cut out for this job, Padre. Especially not Dani. All she does is make eyes at Paul all day, which can be totally distracting – '

'Don't be silly, Susannah,' he said firmly to me. 'You all will make a superb team. You just have to set aside your differences . . . especially about Danielle,' he added with condemnation.

I scoffed.

'Furthermore,' he continued with a heavy frown, 'I don't know what happened with you, Mr Slater, and Jesse . . . but it has got to cease if you want this group to work.'

What if I DON'T want this group to work?

But I, um, didn't say that out loud.

Or he would totally get religious on my ass.

. . . Not literally, you weird people.

But yeah, how in the WORLD did he NOTICE this stuff?!

I pouted at him. Ugh, priests. Does he talk in tongues, too?

'Cheer up, Susannah . . . everything will work itself out . . . you must have faith.'

Faith. Ha. I rolled my eyes. 'Faith has never gotten me anywhere, Father D. Ever. Faith just don't work like it used to, I'm afraid to say – '

'That's because you've lost it,' he remarked patiently. 'You have to believe again, Susannah, if not in our Lord, than at least in yourself.'

I stared at him, not saying a word.

Yeah. Right.

What's there to believe in, with me? I have plenty of belief. Belief that I will SUCK. That I will get what's coming to me. That I have made mistakes, and I'm paying for them. That I will keep on paying, till there's nothing left of me. That I'm totally going to die a virgin.

And if you think about it, that's probably the most depressing thing of all.

I mean . . . no one probably LIKED Mother Mary. Maybe she had HAIRY LEGS LIKE MARIA. It was BC. Before Christ! Um, just. But yeah, you can't just MAGIC hairy legs away, even if you ARE GOD.

I sighed. 'Um . . . sure. Yeah, whatever . . . ' I looked away awkwardly. 'Um, is anyone else here?' My watch told me that it was nearly midnight. 'Four hours . . . ugh.'

'I think there might be someone in the waiting room . . . ' Father Dom told me. He sounded mighty disappointed. Well, hey, that's me. A big, fat, depressing disappointment. 'I'm pretty sure everyone went home after they were sure we were all right. It might be a good idea if you returned to your room, Susannah . . . they will release you tomorrow.'

I choked on a swallow. 'Tomorrow? No way, I'm totally going home tonight.' I was determined, now, more than ever. No one hurt my Father Dominic and got away with it. HELL NO.

I mean, er . . . heaven no.

'So, um, I'll just see ya around, Father Dom. I hope you feel better soon.'

And with that, I left Father Dominic's bedside. He called after me, 'Susannah . . . don't you dare consider leaving this hospital until you are checked out properly. Susannah? Susannah, are you listening to me?'

To which I replied with a casual wave, and got the heck out of there.

I sped down the hall, looking around nervously for anymore perfectly prim nurses that may have been wandering around. Much to my luck, there weren't any because it was midnight, and most of them were probably off having some coffee or something.

So I was able to freely walk the halls in my suspicious-looking hospital gown, without anyone ushering me back to my room. Now all I needed was to find the waiting room, wherever they kept it. Seriously, the corridors were like a white maze or something.

Finally overhead like a great sign from Mr.Holyman himself, appeared a glorious sign in black bold letters that said "WAITING ROOM".

I turned the corner in relief. I was quite proud of myself for being able to get away with something like that.

But right as I turned the corner I saw something- or rather, SOMEONE- that I particularly did not want to see.

That's right folks. Danielle Moore. PMS's girlfriend. Barbie to Paul's Ken, looking as stunning as ever in her lacy slip-dress.

You know, for someone that was sick earlier today, she sure didn't look it.

'I see you've made it out okay,' Danielle observed snottily, looking me over from head to toe.

Those words coming from Danielle did not surprise me in the least. No . . . I expected her to be just as cold and heartless. Even if I did just come from the hospital.

Bitch . . .

'I think I'll just head back into the room now. I'm not feeling so great anymore . . . '

'Nonsense,' Dani said as she grabbed my arm, pulling me back. 'What? Did a little mishap with your shoulder leave you incapacitated? Poor dear.'

'No,' I replied through gritted teeth, 'I'm fully capacitated. Enough to rip your arm off if you don't get it off of me.'

Dani dropped her hand and frowned. 'I don't see how. Your arm looks like it is about to fall off its hinges.'

'Thanks,' I replied as I threw her a cynical smile.

Really . . . of all people, why DANI? I mean, first of all, she doesn't even seem to like me, much less think of me as more than a mere lint-ball on one of her expensive designer coats. Why did she, of all people, decide to stay at the hospital?

'Paul said that you ran yourself into a gate,' Dani said after a long pause. I felt uncomfortable just sitting there and talking to her. Especially since she was not, you know, my favorite person of all time. Plus it was like she was going out of her way to make me feel bad.

As if a dislocated shoulder and the realization that these past five years were in fact reality didn't hurt enough . . .

'Yeah. In a totally non-suicidal way, mind you,' I replied. Well, not at the time. If there was a time in which I officially wanted to off myself for good, now was the time.

'Well, then it's a good thing Paul was there, right?'

'Why would that be?' I asked her, a bit taken aback.

'Or else,' she replied, looking straight at my arm, which was in a sling, 'it might have been worse. Much worse.'

UGH! Who was she trying to tell me that if it hadn't been for her Paulie, that it would have been worse? It so wouldn't have been! If it weren't for me, Father Dom would probably have never been found. It's a lucky thing I found him when I did, or else he might have been . . . well, dead.

Dani, like Paul, must think she's invincible or something. Immune to death. Well, I've been in contact with it so many times that I'm quite used to knocking at its door. I've even wiped my feet on the doormat a few times.

'Are you sure don't need to stay longer? You look TERRIBLE. I bet you could use some rest.'

'Well , actually . . . '

Dani cut me off. 'I completely understand how TIRING it must be for you . . . Father Dominic being your ONLY friend and all . . . '

That . . . that . . . UGH! HOW DARE SHE?

You should have heard the way she said it. It sounded so polite . . . almost to the point of being rude. Correction: not ALMOST. It actually WAS rude.

'Speaking of only friends . . . did Paul send you here? I mean, I know he likes using people for his own good, but he really didn't have to go out of his way just for me,' I rejoined, coldly.

Dani glared at me a little, passing my comment off. 'Dear Paulie . . . he was going to stay the whole night, bless his heart,' Dani said as she pressed her hand to her chest fondly, 'but I told him to go back and get some rest. It has been a very long day for my Paulie.'

Pssh. A long day for Paulie? What about a long day for ME? I don't see Paul trying to escape from the hospital dressed in a hospital gown with a rather restraining sling on his shoulder.

'You must really love him to do something so sacrificial,' I told Dani snidely. 'I mean, considering all that beauty sleep you NEED – I mean – are required to have. You know, because of the whole model thing.'

'I guess some of us just have to make sacrifices in times of great need,' Dani replied, scowling at me.

'I'm sure we all know what YOU consider to be a time of need now don't we?' I rejoined, smirking to myself in content.

'What,' Dani demanded with an evil glare, 'is THAT supposed to mean?'

I smiled at Dani as I saw her clenching her car keys so tight that her fingers where turning white. And looking at Dani, she's no Snow White.

'Hey, you don't happen to have separate cars by any chance, do you?' I asked pointedly.

'No, sorry,' Dani looked at me apologetically. 'I guess you'll just have to WALK.'

And with that, Dani breezed past me, brushing her shoulder against my HURT one (OWW), and walking out of the waiting room.

That Danielle is such a DIVA. Just because she's a supermodel and is on the cover of Cosmo every eight weeks does NOT mean she can leave helpless hospitalized refugees trying to escape from the horrible confines of this perfectly spotless place to SUFFER.

I didn't even bother chasing her. I mean, I'd never be able to catch up. She weighs, like, 90 pounds or something AND she's a earth-roaming giant. She can cover more ground than I can. I mean, she's like, a pair of legs on legs. And if I ever caught up with her, she cold just use her inflate-o-boobs and float away or something.

And then it would be like that scene off the Austin Powers movies, where everyone's like, "Oh look, there's a huge pair of – "

"MELONS! Nice juicy melons for sale!"

. . . Um . . . yeah . . .

So I, in a mad rush, got back to my hospital room and nearly slammed the door. I mean, Dani was just such a BITCH. I saw in my little room a small bag of clothes that I hadn't noticed before. Well, at least Paul brought me some decent clothes. That was kind of nice of him. But that still doesn't make up for the fact that he left me with his psycho girlfriend that just up and left me to suffer in the hospital.

Hope SHE sees a cockroach or two . . .

Though, now that I think of it, it would have been really ridiculous leaving the hospital still in the gown. I mean, yeah I had my underwear on under it and everything, but nothing much else. So I welcomed the change of clothes.

I changed into the black slacks and blue sweater that Paul got – or, it was probably CeeCee. Yeah, CeeCee was the nice, happy person who got me my pretty clothes, not Paul – I pulled on my tennis shoes and plaited my hair again, because it was looking kind of afro and everything. No, not like Beyonce from Goldmember. More like . . . Johnny Depp in Secret Window, after he wakes up. How it looks like it's all been moussed to the left side? I'm sure you'll agree – scary.

I heard a strange noise coming from the bag after that, and I dug through it to find it. I pulled my cell phone from my bag and checked the number, confused at who would try to call me at his time of night.

Maybe it was Dani calling to apologize. Which wouldn't be SO bad . . . except for the whole part about Dani knowing my cell phone number. THAT would be just plain creepy.

No . . . the number that flashed upon the screen did not match Dani's. But it was just as creepy, if not creepier. Because the person who called me was . . .

Cole. Cole Kennedy.

Aww, shit.

I thought about not answering. About just letting it ring, and stuff. But since one of the nurses were glaring at me, I kind of had to stop the noise. I thumbed the button, and then slowly held the receiver to my ear, licking my lips slowly.

'Hey, you've reached Suze Simon, I'm not in at the moment, but if it's important, I'll totally ring you back. If it's you, mum, yeah, Canada's great! If it's Cole Kennedy, you can go fuck yourself,' I cooed in my brightest voice, and was about to hang up when he snapped, 'Suze, I know you're frigging there. Talk to me.'

I groaned, but didn't say anything.

'You aren't home yet . . . I thought I told you to get the hell over here,' he growled in a low voice through the receiver.

I paused, and swallowed. 'Since when do I take orders from you?' I wanted to know.

'Well, you better start now . . . or else I'm going to drag you home myself,' Cole told me, in a harder voice. Again, I paused, looking directly ahead. The wall was white, and so clean. Too clean. Like any ants or anything that crawled across that wall would be hunted down and would be done away with in the most painful way possible.

My mind felt very far away again. 'Huh? Where do you get off, bossing me around? My God . . . you don't own me. You don't even know where I am. So screw you,' I rebutted angrily. But as per usual, when the sound of Cole's voice filled my head, I felt my heart speed up, and I felt my memory digging up those recent memories of when he'd lost his temper.

Loser . . .

'I'll call the police . . . they can track you down for me,' he said confidently.

I had the strangest mental image, then. As, Cole had so much power over me, that I was beneath him. I felt like I was lying down in some place dark, and he was crawling over me slowly, and menacingly, with the threat that he would steal away the thing that I kept from him so emphatically. Namely, me, in a . . . different way, though. And that mental image scared me, a lot.

'Why would they?' I asked dully. Seriously, the police have a lot more on their hands, with catching copy-cat pig-kidnappers and transvestite serial killers and stuff. They don't need to find some stupid girl who's run away from her ex.

Always running . . .

'They would if they thought you stole something of mine.'

What could I have stolen? The loser didn't HAVE anything. He only had me, and even then, he'd lost that too. Now he wanted me back, but he wasn't going to get what he wanted. Just like last time . . .

I was angry.

'Oh my GOD! What the hell is wrong with you?! What's the point in all of this shit? We broke up, because you were way too pushy, and when I refused to . . . you know, you totally went of and to hit the sheets with some random girl who wasn't repelled by you! And now you're blaming me for it? Jesus, Cole! Stay away from me. It's your own fault that it's over. So deal, and get over it!' I yelled heatedly into the cell. After my little outburst, I settled again into a fearful anxiety. I knew better than to piss Cole off. Well, now I did.

It was so strange . . . why was it, when I had people like Paul Slater in my life, that I was scared of someone like Cole?

Maybe it was because Paul had never dared to hit me.

Well . . . he did once, but that was because I was talking nonsense and I needed to be brought back down to earth. I have a tendency to babble, as you may have seen. And plus, he didn't HIT me . . . he barely tapped my cheek.

Why was I DEFENDING Paul?!

'It wasn't my fault, Suze . . . you weren't giving me what I needed . . . but I realized that I really do need you . . . so you're coming home, damn it,' he snarled at me.

I said flatly, 'I wasn't giving you what you needed . . . ' My God. He was so full of SHIT. 'What was that, Cole? Sex? You need sex? Well, go hire a prostitute. I'm not your girl, and I don't offer those services, whether you NEED them or NOT.'

'Get your ass home . . . now,' he threatened, in a low and deadly tone. It certainly made me blood run cold. But then . . . it always did.

What was truly scary was I knew that there was some sincerity in what he was saying.

I breathed in deeply, and held my breath, sitting down on the white bed behind me. I felt like holding my head, which was just starting to hurt, but I didn't. My hands were freezing, again.

After an eternity, I replied, in an adamant tone, 'No.'

'No?!'

'Yeah, you heard me. No where with you is home, Cole.'

I waited for the reply. Hopefully, it would be a cheerful, "Okay, honey. That's nice. I was wrong, and yes, my dick is small and I have a case of BO too horrible to win your righteous love. Have a nice life, cheers."

But strangely enough, I had a feeling that that wouldn't be the case, for some wacky reason.

Can't imagine why.

'I'll find you, Suze. Then you're coming home, and you're going to be frigging sorry that you ever gave me such a hard time about all of this.'

'You won't find me,' I sniffed indignantly. I was hoping that that little "Canada" thing I said earlier would throw him off.

'Oh, I won't stop until I do,' he laughed dangerously, and with a condemning beep, he hung up.

Won't stop?

Well, THAT sucks.

- 8 -

Well, basically all I did after that was quietly call CeeCee's cell, so she'd come and pick me up. Adam answered, which was even better. I told him about Dani's mean departure without me, adding a few more colourful words than necessary, and he happily came to rescue me from the hospital. I signed out, even though the nurse sounded annoyed, but whatever. I said goodbye to Father Dom, and that was then end of it.

What I'm really trying to say is I HATE DANIELLE MOORE!!!

She's the QUEEN of PMS!

. . . LITERALLY!!!

Well, yeah. I had a lovely sleep that night, after running to the shelter of a Mother's Little Helper. Well, that's what Mick Jagger call's them. I like to think of them as . . . Vikatin.

Stop teasing me. I was prescribed, okay? I am NOT a druggie.

Yet.

But whatever. I was really pissed off when I woke up at eleven. Probably because of the whole "waking up" part of it. But yeah. As soon as I went down to the kitchen, I could feel the tension in the room.

Then I remembered.

Oh yeah . . . Father Dom got attacked last night.

Well, the kitchen got that little bit colder, despite the pleasant temperature. Strange to think that last night, something horrible had happened, when it was such a lovely day.

Jack looked awful. I'm not even kidding . . . the kid looked like he'd lost his best friend. Which, really he did because he probably talked to Father Dominic more than he talked to his girlfriend Mary.

His features were darkened with sadness and his blue eyes looked just a bit grayer that day, which broke my heart to see him tortured like that.

Jesse, who was standing gravely next to Jack, tried to pat his arm comfortingly, but Jack avoided him and moved past him into the dining hall. Jesse seemed a touch hurt, but he seemed to understand Jack's pain. He wore the same face of gravity and downtroddeness.

Even JESSE was down. Has the world suddenly stop spinning or something?

I decided to go try to cheer up Jack. I didn't know if he would even allow me to converse with him, or if he'd give me the same treatment as Jesse, but it was worth a shot.

Father Dominic would want me to do the same thing.

So I slid out of the kitchen and into the vast dining hall, and looked for Jack. He didn't seem to be there for some reason. He didn't leave the kitchen, but what? Two minutes ago? He couldn't have gone very far.

Although . . . he IS a swimmer. And from what Father Dom has said in the past, a pretty good one at that. All because of me . . .

Maybe, I thought, just MAYBE I could help Jack again. Just like old times.

I maneuvered through the tables and chairs of the dining hall to get to the exit. The whole time I was thinking to myself: If I were Jack, where would I be?

Well, that was a difficult question. I mean, he's a smart kid. He wouldn't hide in his room. I knew for a fact that he'd be stupid enough to do that.

So I guess the REAL question should be: Where is one place Jack would go when he's afraid?

Which, let me tell you, was an even harder question because I barely even knew Jack. What I know of him now is only limited to the thing he's told me and what Father Dominic brags about him. Well, those things and almost a week of one fateful summer . . .

The thing is, it was hard to imagine Jack being afraid anymore. His fears seemed to die when I first taught him how to swim and mediate. He turned out to be another fearless Slater . . . one that had potential to actually be a decent human being.

I recalled the time when Jack saw the ghost of one of the hotel's staff that one summer. I remember the look in poor Jack's tear stained eyes as he looked up to me from the deckchair, a towel clenched in his little hands . . .

Just then, I heard a shuffling noise coming from under one of the tables. I slowly crept over to the table, in case it was another pesky roach again. But no, I didn't see any roach . . . I saw Jack, huddled under one of the tables, hugging his knees to his chest and frowning heavily.

'Hey there,' I smiled, bobbing down in front of him.

He glared at me. 'What?'

I sighed. 'What's up? I mean, besides the table that you, a thirteen year old young boy, are hiding under. I find that a bit strange, but that's just me.'

Jack's expression turned rueful. 'Shut up.'

I gave him a grim look. 'Is it about Father Dom?'

His eyes told me all I need to know.

Repositioning myself so that I was sitting crosslegged, I said, 'Look, he's going to be okay. He's totally fine. Talking, singing hymns, praising the Lord, and all that jazz.' Jack still stared at me.

'It's just . . . this place,' he admitted. 'I thought it would be cool to spend time with all of you. And Paul. Paul never spends time with me – '

I KNEW IT.

' – and I thought that I could be one of yous. But it's not fun like I thought it would be. It's scary. And you probably think I'm some stupid little kid with issues, just like last time.'

'Hey,' I said very firmly, 'I don't think you're a stupid kid with issues. I NEVER did. You know that, Jack. And trust me, you're reacting a lot better than a lot of guys your age,' I lied.

What? Sorry, but he was kind of a wuss. But not too much. I guess there WAS some truth in what I'd just said. Some thirteen year old boys would have permanent wet patches in their crotch areas by now, due to frequent pants-wetting. Not Jack. He feared quietly. And dryly, thank you.

'Really?' he asked softly.

'Really,' I replied, more sure that it was so, now. Jack was still eyeing me as if he didn't believe me. He obviously didn't think that much of himself. The poor guy was totally down.

Bummer.

Well, it's Susie to the rescue, right?

I'd just have to cheer him up.

'Hey, I said with a wise guy kind of smile, 'You like pizza?'

He perked up a bit. 'Yeah,' he replied slowly, with a little grin on his little face, 'Sure.'

'Great,' I smiled. 'Because we are officially going to get pizza.'

Well, if CeeCee spoke true when she told me that there was a little place in the town, in Gilroy, that had a great pizzeria, then, sure, we were officially going to get pizza.

If she's a stupid liar, then poo-poo to CeeCee.

But I doubt that. I think that CeeCee appreciates her facts a little more than to lie.

Or whatever.

'Okay,' I beamed. That was totally easier than I thought it would be. Jack is a guy who's easy to please. He'd make a great boyfriend, if he wasn't, you know, jailbait or whatever. 'I'm going to go get changed into something less disgusting, or more, if you're an eighty year old grandma who likes ladies to cover their legs. But whatever, I'll meet you at the entrance, in about ten?'

Because, hello, my hair was disgusting too.

'Yeah,' he grinned, crawling out from under the table. Seriously what thirteen year old hides under a table to show that he's upset? There is a thing called slamming doors, hello???

Meh. Jack's a funny guy.

Well, anyway, I had run up the stairs. My arm, thanks to the perks of shifting, had healed pretty much, so I'd ditched the sling, which SO was not what every twenty-three-year-old young woman wants on her arm, and slammed my OWN door, for no particular reason. I then walked over to my suitcase, and grabbed out random clothes.

After a few minutes of coupling together tops and bottoms, in the search for the perfect "I'm here for ze pizza, I vant to eat ze pizza, let me have ze freaking pizza" outfit, I finally settled on a white pleated mini-skirt and a pink tank top. I don't know why, but I felt like going totally feminine. I mean, it wasn't like there was anyone to impress, so whatever.

I carefully slid into some classy white flip flops, and then I blow-dried my hair, just to make sure it looked okay. Which it did. I'd washed it last night . . . Jesus, that seemed like a long time ago, huh? But yeah, before I'd gone exploring on my own, I had in fact, had a perfectly blood-free shower, thank you very much. So yeah.

There was a very small mirror in this room. I figured that the rich students who'd been in this room had these special facilities. Because, God knows the rooms in the lower dormitories didn't have MIRRORS. Baaaah . . . stupid school hierarchy, it was totally gay.

Whatever.

My reflection was cute. I was happy.

I grabbed my cell phone, and put it in a sweet rose pink Kate Spade bag, and slid on some sunglasses that were shaded pink. You know, like Anastasia wears, only mine weren't yellow. I felt a little guilty about what I was wearing. I mean, I wasn't a seventeen year old. But, hey, Dani flounced around in her micro-minis and her boob tubes shamelessly, so why couldn't I? Only, I'd actually be somewhat CONSERVATIVE?

Yes, I have CLASS, unlike SOME.

I gracefully descended the stairs, feeling a million dollars. I looked really good. A little like mutton dressed as lamb, but hey, I wasn't THAT old. I was still in my early twenties, I had every right in the world to wear a mini skirt.

And plus. I have nice legs.

Mine weren't STICKS.

'Okay Jack,' I called, 'Are you ready to go? I'll just go ask CeeCee if we can borrow her car –'

'Oh, yeah, um . . . Suze, about that,' called Jack's voice a little too innocently from near the door, which I had yet to see. I stopped suspiciously, and then kept walking down.

Oh. That's why he sounded guilty.

Paul.

He had the nerve to WHISTLE at me.

I flushed magenta. I mean, okay, so it's Paul giving me a hairy eyeball, but still . . . it was embarrassing at the same time as being ever so slightly flattering.

'Continue,' I told Jack, knowing exactly what he was going to ask.

'Can Paul come? And can we go in his car?'

Ugh. I am going to KILL HIM.

I totally glared at Jack. He was such a little TRAITOR when he wanted to be! Seriously, I try to do a good deed, cheer up a little boy who's down in the dumps, and this is what I get!

Well, I was not going to be eating my pizza in Paul's presence. No way, José.

. . . No, I really WASN'T. I had NO INTENTION of giving in, this time! Regardless of the –

'Please?'

. . . the Slater Puppy Eyes.

'Paul wants to come?' I said lightly. 'Oh, okay. Well, you have someone to take you then, Jack. I'll stay here.'

'But you said you'd come!' Jack sounded mortally wounded. Like I'd totally offended him or something. Yeah, seriously. Aren't I HORRIBLE?

Ugh.

'Well, that was only so you would be under adult supervision,' I explained. 'And now, you have Paul. Hell knows he's more of an adult than me. So you're sweet. See ya.' I turned around and went back up the stairs, my cheeks FLAMING like there was no tomorrow –

'Come on, Suze,' Paul's voice wrapped around my every inch, making me stop. 'We want you to come,' he further influenced, his tone forcing me to face him. 'We can go in my car.'

I blinked down at his eyes of cool ice. He was smirking. And to my surprise, he wasn't dressed in a suit. Sure, he wasn't grunge, but he wasn't . . . you know, my-shoes-are-so-clean-you-could-lick-them or anything, which was a total improvement.

'Nah, it's fine,' I shrugged.

'You just got changed!' Jack protested.

'It's true, Suze,' Paul said evenly, leaning against the door from across the entrance room, 'And you do look pretty good, you wouldn't want to deprive the world of that outfit, now would you?'

He was definitely flirting . . . he wasn't supposed to do that.

My face went positively RED with mortification.

'That's why they have supermodels,' I replied coolly.

'Dani's –' Paul stopped, and discontinued his sentence. Huh, girl stuff again? Wait, I don't want to know.

Paul crossed the room in about ten strides, so he was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me slyly. 'I'll let you ride shotgun,' he promised.

SHOTGUN?! WHAT THE SHOOT WAS SHOTGUN?!?!  
  
WAS THAT . . . KINKY?!?!

With wide eyes, I demanded in a very high voice, 'What?!'

Paul smirked widely up at me, his eyes dancing with mischief. 'Front seat, of course,' he cocked his head to the right. 'Don't tell me you didn't know that.'

He was always doing that . . . playing with my head, and then making me feel really dumb. Okay, so I jumped to conclusions, but shot gun sounds like it's in the same category as . . . I dunno, "bareback" or something.

Don't ask, I'm grossed out enough already.

'Oh,' I said, feeling dumber by the second. 'Um, okay.'

OOPS. I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO SAY YES.

NOOOOOOO!!!!

I WAS CAUGHT OFF GUARD! I WANT A SECOND CHANCE DRAW!!!! I WANT A REFUND –

'Cool,' said Paul, stepping up, grabbing my hand forcefully, and yanking me down the steps before I could change my mind.

All he wanted to do was torture me . . . why the hell was I going?

Ugh . . . and on top of THAT, I knew that I had to say thank you for the whole thing the night before. I mean, how weird must that have been for him for me to suddenly faint like that? Probably as freaky as it gets.

I suck.

Jack shoved open the front door cheerfully, and Paul pretty much pushed me out. I discretely moved away from him, because it was gross enough that we unfortunately had to share the same oxygen, let alone him touching my back.

Everything looked a lot happier, today. The sun was high in the sky, being almost noon. The grass even looked, you know, not so dead. Which was a big deal. I wanted to point it out, but how weird would that have been? I mean, it wasn't as if it were pretty, or anything.

Oh, look at the pretty partially deceased flora!

Ugh, kill me.

Hey, so sue me for not having a green thumb?

Paul fished keys from his pocket, and unlocked his black Jaguar by pressing the little button on his remote locking thingie. There was a faint click, and then Jack jumped into the back seat, leaving the right side for me and the left for Paul.

Juuuuuuust peachy.

Paul glided over to the passenger side, and opened the door for me before I could get there. Giving him a look that must have been exceptionally stupid, I fumbled with my bag for a second, before slipping in with a mumbled, 'Uh . . . yeah . . .'

Jack gave a hacking cough, which lead me to believe that it was, in fact, a fake cough.

I mean, what are the odds, huh?

I was kind of disgusted with my childish behaviour. Wouldn't I just, like, GROW UP?

But then again, I think that it was quite reasonable to have these misgivings. I mean, the last time I had hopped into a car with Paul Slater, it had cost me my love life. Seriously . . . so what if he didn't put any moves on me in the actual CAR. It was just OUTSIDE that he decided to tackle me to the ground, IN THE RAIN, and kiss me.

. . . My kissing back is NOT THE POINT.

I buckled my seat belt with a nervous shrug. Jack was sitting behind where Paul was going to sit. Ironically enough, the devil himself hopped into his driving seat.

I swear, I only stared at his butt for a second before looking away.

ONE SECOND.

SUE ME, PAUL HAS A KIND-OF-NICE BUTT.

'I'm hungry,' groaned Jack, pouting.

'Didn't you eat breakfast?' I asked.

'Yeah,' he said, 'So? That was ages ago.'

'It was fifty minutes ago,' Paul said dryly, inserting his keys into the ignition.

Ugh . . . I should just get out, and go back to the school.

No . . . then he'll totally give me a hard time later . . . and plus, Danielle was in there. Sorry to say, but I hated Dani more than Paul.

Just.

'Okay, so, pizza,' Paul said, as his Jaguar purred into life, but hadn't moved it yet. 'What pizzeria are we going to?'

'CeeCee told me about one called 'Pete's Pizza,' I sniffed. 'How original.'

I crossed my arms, trying to fake nonchalance, when really, I felt as weird as it gets.

Paul reached up to adjust the mirror. 'Hey, Jack, do up your seat belt, kid.'

I had the sudden urge to flail my arms and scream, "DO WHAT YOU WANT, JACK, DON'T LET HIM BOSS YOU AROUND!"

But then I remembered, oh yeah . . . the road safety thing . . .

Damn.

'Just start the car,' I said flatly.

Paul shot me a very quick grin, before he shoved his foot down on the pedal, making the Jaguar erupt with a loud VROOM.

'What the – ' I grabbed my armrest hesitantly.

'Buckled up?' Paul smirked back to Jack, 'This is going to be one hell of a ride.'

'All done,' Jack yelled, sounded excited.

. . . I was starting to see why Jack was so keen for Paul to drive . . .

Paul put the car forcefully, making the tires screech as he peeled out toward the gate. It was open – no, destroyed – so we glided out at illegal speeds.

'What are you – ' I looked at him in alarm.

'Whoo hoo!' Jack interrupted me.

(A/N: JACK JUST GOT WHOO HOO, HAYLEY!)

Paul turned sharply onto a long stretch of road, and sped up to well over 90 mph. The countryside flashed by in a blur.

I glared out the window, trying not to remember who I was in the car with.

Well, not Jack, but . . . oh, shut up.

Paul turned to face me, one hand draped leisurely over the steering wheel. His window, too, was open, and wind was powering at his hair, making it fly around in a wild . . . almost sexy way . . .

UGH. AS IF.

SEXY MY BUTT.

. . . Well . . . some people think my butt is sexy, but –

And I just ADMITTED that his kind of was too, so –

I HAVE NO POINT IN MY ARGUMENT. KINDLY KILL ME?!

Paul leaned over to me a little, and said in my ear, 'Having fun yet?'

Again, I went dark red. I didn't know why, or how, but my whole face erupted in a dark crimson shade. I felt . . . so weird . . .

'I didn't know driving was supposed to be fun,' I snapped disdainfully. 'I always thought of it as, you know, a means of transport to get one from one place to the other as fast as the SPEED LIMIT will allow,' I said pointedly, giving him a dirty look.

'There's nothing out here,' he said airily. 'Just trees, grass, fields, freedom, whatnot.'

Freedom? To do what? Pee behind trees and not be seen?

'So?' I rebutted, 'Who KNOWS what's around the corner? Deer? Fallen trees? Low flying aeroplanes?'

Jack snorted, and I gave him a snooty look, too.

PLENTY OF GLARES TO GO AROUND, DAMN IT.

'. . . And then there's the suicide bombers of Iraq –' I continued.

'Suze? Lighten up,' Paul advised me. 'Live a little.'

'I...I live, I – ' I protested in affront, 'I just think that you should um . . . slow down?'

'Go faster, Paul!' Jack urged him, leaning over his brother's seat way too well for someone who claimed to be wearing a seat belt.

HE WASN'T!

As I went to yell at him, Paul butted it, with his, 'What was that? Go faster? My pleasure . . . ' as he STEPPED ON THE GAS! Inertia caused us to all lean back a bit due to the dramatic increase of speed.

'Slow down, damn it!' I yelled, gripping the armrest harder. I have had a BAD EXPERIENCE WITH FAST CARS, HELLO?! NEIL AND CRAIG, MUCH?!?!

We were going up a hill at such a fast speed . . . higher and higher, until we reached the top for a split second and found ourselves speeding down hill, my stomach dropping as Paul conquered over 95 mph.

'HAHAH!' Jack yelled, laughing madly with Paul. Wasn't he a LAWYER?!?! I gave them a stony look. Paul made the roof slide off, and so air was FULL ON blowing my BLOW-DRIED HAIR. Does he have NO RESPECT for HAIR CARE?!

He raised his arms victoriously, obviously overwhelmed with endorphins. Wind gusted his gelled brown curls back and he closed his eyes and roared, 'Whoo hoo!'

(A/N: PAUL GOT WHOO HOO TOO! HAHAHA!!!)

I was officially freaked out.

Paul returned one arm to the steering wheel. 'Aww, come on, Suze, you gotta admit, you're having the time of your life,' he grinned.

I didn't even crack a smile. 'I am NOT.'

Jack was laughing, hard. 'See how boring it would have been with you driving? Paul knows how to have fun!' he hooted.

My stony look got stonier.

Paul grinned, showing all his sickly white teeth.

'I . . . I have fun,' I shot at Jack, 'I do – um, stuff.'

Jack smirked. 'What? Your favorite hobby is staring at Jesse. That's like, X-treme sports for the disabled or something.'

SOMEONE was CRUISING for a BRUISING.

I turned away from him, in a FOUL MOOD.

Paul laughed. 'Good one, kid.' I went even stiffer with his laughing voice.

'Well, Suze wants me to slow down...to act like an adult, Jack. So I guess I'll start now,' he said, promptly shoving his foot on the brakes, HARD, sending us flying forward on impact. Jack, the little idiot, bashed his nose into Paul's back seat, but didn't dare tell him that he hadn't done up his belt.

Disgruntled, I snapped, 'About time you grew up.' I felt like doing something extremely childish, like hopping out of the car and declaring that I could walk home, but that would have been . . . er . . . pretty stupid . . .

Paul was now going a crawling 30 mph, an expression of pure boredom on his features. But now instead of going too fast, he was going way too slow. The speed limit was 45 . . . ugh.

'You SUCK,' I shot at him.

'Yeah,' Jack leaned forward again, thumping his brother on the head, hard. 'Don't be gay!'

'Pipe down, kids, I'm trying to drive . . . like an ADULT,' he said expressively, giving me a sarcastic look, a small grin playing on his lips.

I. Am. Going. To. KILL. HIM.

'Grow UP!'

'I was kidding, Suze . . . God, Jack just wanted to have some fun. I was just being a big brother,' Paul said dully, going the right speed, and putting the roof back on. I patted my hair fearfully, and was relieved to see that my hairspray had come through for me.

Jack sat back, looking might disappointed.

Whoa . . . was I really that much of a party pooper?

'You have no life Suze,' Jack stated.

'Hey!'

'My thoughts exactly, little bro.'

'My life is VERY – um . . . lively – SHUT UP – Oh wait . . . the phrase, "shut up" is apparently beneath the Slater brothers. So I'm just going to ignore you both. You're being a little shithead,' I said back to Jack, 'And your brother's being a dickhead. This headedness runs in the family. Not related to the D. Head himself by any chance?'

'She's so boring, Paul. Mediating, playing by the rules, being right . . . '

I stared ahead, hearing this totally objectively. Was this me? Was this how people saw me? Was I a total bitch? Was I and better than DANI? If I was on the same plane of bitchiness as her, I'd KILL MYSELF.

Paul was smiling to himself.

'I shouldn't have come,' I said simply. 'I'm just spoiling your fun.'

So much for the expected, "No you're not! We love you!" shrieks of love.

'Well,' Jack shrugged bluntly, 'Pretty much.'

. . . Oh. Thanks.

'What? You said it,' Jack pointed out.

I groaned, and slumped in my seat, wanting to die.

'Jack, be fair. She's just worried. She hasn't learned the true meaning of 'having fun' yet. She would have, but she chose not to.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' I demanded, looking on him with accusing eyes. There was a drop of acid in my tone.

'Do you even have to ask?' he drawled. I could now see the busy town a little way away. We were almost there. This torment was almost over . . . oh, thank God . . .

Because this so wasn't fair. I was TOTALLY getting persecuted by the Slaters.

'Two choices, Jack,' Paul went on confidently from the wheel, steering now, into the road that lead into a main street in Gilroy's town area. 'Something full of life or something dead to the world. Which would you choose?'

'Do you even have to ask?' Jack sniggered, being an ass. I was getting more and more pissed.

'See? Jack sees the fit choice. You didn't, though,' Paul said to me nastily.

'I didn't chose either . . . ' I tried defending myself. 'No wait, I did. But I didn't get anything from it, thanks to certain people who are now currently asshole lawyers. So shut your face.'

Paul grinned back at Jack. It was if he was teaching a class, and I was beign used as an example. Persecution, I tell you. BY a lawyer, too. That totally sucked. 'She chose the dead thing, Jack. And it got her no where.'

Yeah. I know that.

I seriously felt like crying . . . this wasn't even funny. I knew I was a nobody. But Paul was individually inserting grains of salt into my wounds with tweasers, and was enjoying it. It wasn't fair . . .

'Paul, please,' I murmured, trying not to sound upset. But since when can Suze Simon do ANYTHING right, let alone ACT? I turned away sharply from him, crossing my arms, and leaning my head against the window, willing the tears to retreat.

He'd hit a nerve. THE nerve that he'd been aiming for. He'd hit the nail RIGHT on the head.

I was barely alive. He knew it, I knew it. And now he was making sure Jack knew it, just for fun.

Fun for all the frigging family . . .

I felt so low, right then.

'What?' Jack said rudely. 'We're just saying, Suze – '

'Jack,' Paul growled, 'Enough.'

- 8 -

THAT WAS QUICK, RIGHT?! NOW REVIEW!!! LONG REVIEWS, OR WE WILL TAKE OUR SWEET TIME WITH CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Love Lolly and Hayley.


	11. Nasty Discoveries

They really weren't kidding when they called this place the Garlic capital of the world. Seriously, the smell of fresh picked garlic dominated even the new car scent that Paul's leathery Jaguar possessed.

I couldn't imagine how the people could stand the strong scent of it in their stores, wafting around in their streets, or even sticking to their clothes. But there were still people that were happily walking the streets of the small town.

I must say, the town possessed a certain small-town charm to it. There were many little dining facilities and even some small gift shops, which all seemed to have a Garlic theme to them.

But over-powering the personality of the quaint little town, was the reeking smell of its garlic breath.

Jack noticed the smell and went, 'Ew, Paul! What'd you eat last night?'

Paul let out his hearty yet chilling chuckle and replied, 'Just be glad I don't take a liking to eating funny little kids.'

'Nah. I'm just glad I'm too chewy for you.'

I couldn't help but smile a bit. It was to be admitted that the Slater brothers had a pretty strange relationship as far as their brother status went. I mean, the closest thing to brotherly affection I had ever seen from the two of them was that which I had been forced to witness at that present moment. Forced only because had I known BOTH brothers were coming along, I wouldn't have even considered going.

Jack, on his own, was a genuine sweetie. But with Paul? They were the unstoppable Twin Terrors. Only, you know, they weren't really twins.

But yeah, joking about cannibalism? Not something your average "Leave it to Beaver" family would do, you know?

My bad mood was sort of fading then, but I had still regretted coming. The good news was, I had the option of ditching the pair to do some mad shopping at the little gift shops. I mean, who doesn't want a tee-shirt that says "I have permanent Garlic Breath"?

What? I was going to buy it for Adam. He'd probably appreciate it more.

'There it is,' Paul points with one finger casually at a building with a sign on it that said "Pete's Pizza". It was a pretty big building in comparison with the little shops surrounding it. It was kind of old-looking too. Let's just say it really didn't look like a great atmosphere to enjoy a slice, you know?

I mean, what if dust gets in my pizza? EW!

'Joy,' I replied sarcastically. 'Where can I find a mall?'

I looked down the street in both ways as Paul drove into the small parking lot in front of the building. On either side of the restaurant (if that's what you would call it) was practically nothing, besides this one pathetically named shop called "Young At Heart".

Basically, it was your typical granny shop.

Jack saw the direction of my gaze and laughed. 'Ha! I see where you are looking. So what'll it be, Suze? Grundies or tightie-whities?'

I went kind of red because, well, I was discussing underwear with a thirteen-year-old. I so did not want Jack to know my undergarment preferences. Or Paul for that matter. I mean, that was just WRONG.

'Shut it,' I told Jack as I turned back to give him a warning glance. 'Just because you wear girlie panties, doesn't mean you have to mock those of us who choose to wear decent underwear.'

'I don't wear girl's panties! YUCK!' Jack protested wildly from the backseat. This may seem mean to mention, but I was actually a little glad to see Jack squirm. I mean, he and Paul had done that to me the whole ride over, and now it was their turn. Only . . . nothing could ever make Paul squirm. He's unsquirmable.

'As long as you've got clean ones on, Jack, it really doesn't matter,' Paul replied as he turned the ignition and put the car in park. God, could they get any more disgusting? We were about to eat, here. Paul added, looking over to Jack in the back, 'Let's just go and eat. I'm starved.'

Well, I'm not so sure I was anymore.

Paul hopped out of the car and opened my door for me as usual, with a huge glittering grin on his face . . . almost as if he were making fun of me or something. I gave him a sarcastic look and said, 'You're suuuuch a gentleman, Paul. Trying to live up to Jesse now, are we?'

'It's not that hard,' Paul's grin grew darker, 'to live up to the dead.'

I hurriedly looked away. Um . . . yeah, I knew Jesse was dead. It's still really hard to take even when you've heard it a few million times. In fact, with Paul living in the school, I'm sure I heard it practically everyday. But it's just so hard to grasp that someone so . . . well, you know . . . could be dead. He's just so . . . alive.

. . . And still a complete jerk. Humph!

Paul pulled me back to earth by saying, 'And besides, Suze, someone has to teach Jack how to treat a lady.'

Jack turned to me and flashed a toothy smile. 'You look hot today, Suze,' he told me with a wink. Then he turned to his older brother and said, 'See! I'm great with girls.'

I rolled my eyes at him. 'Charming, Jack. Juuust charming.'

Really . . . what do they teach kids these days? What have they been putting in TV shows? If Jack weren't already corrupt enough being the brother of a demon.

Paul ruffled Jack's hair and winked at me, saying, 'He needs a little work.'

I'll say.

I nodded awkwardly. 'Er . . . yeah,' was my astounding witticism.

Paul was still smirking at me, and I was getting more and more uncomfortable. Because . . . you know, I suck and everything. But whatever. So we were just walking down the street, Paul looking confident, Jack looking happy and me looking like a loser and all, when my cell phone vibrated to indicate that I'd gotten a message.

I swear, when will I LEARN that no one nice EVER calls me and I should just pitch my cell off a cliff? Because seriously, the message that I received only served to make my face drain of all blood, as if a vampire, despite the garlic surrounding us, had latched onto my neck and was drawing out every drop of red life from me.

"GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE OR YOU WILL REGRET IT. I AM SERIOUS."

I blinked a couple of times, and stopped walking, staring at the little screen on my Nokia. My face felt like it had just got a Botox injection or something, because I couldn't move my facial features. My hand that held my cell phone was very white. I knew that I got these messages often, but their effect still left me with the chills.

'Suze?' Jack too, had stopped.

Paul's prickly tones washed over me. 'You look like you've just seen a ghost, Suze,' he chuckled nastily. What a loser. He totally was aware of the fact that I see ghosts every day of my freaking wannabe-life. Jeez, what a shitty joke.

Hurriedly, I broke from my spell of stillness, and fumbled with my phone, stuffing it back in my Kate Spade. 'Um, it's fine,' I babbled furiously, 'Just someone wanted to let me know, that, um, their . . . um, car blew up, and . . . um . . . they were still in it and . . . I mean, no they weren't, because then they would be dead and couldn't have, um, texted me, so, um, they ran their car off a cliff – oops, then they could still be kind of ghostish – Hey, it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!' I yelled at him.

Paul raised a dark, elegant eyebrow. 'Sure,' he said.

'What business would SHE have?' Jack grinned, and I shot him a look.

A lot. A whole lot.

Paul opened the door for both Jack and me. The heavenly scent of freshly made pizza floated around us as we stepped inside. The interior of the little pizza place was kind of dark, lighted only by a few Christmas lights strung all over the place. A few signs advertising the "All you can eat" pizza special were placed all over, and a few signs pointed to the buffet, where there was a few ready made pizzas waiting under some warm lamps. What was even more unique about the place was the little mini-arcade in there, featuring pinball, a ski-ball machine, a few arcade games, and an air-hockey table.

Jack was already lost. The instant he laid eyes upon the arcade, his face lit up. He turned to Paul and asked, tugging on his sleeve, 'Paul, can I have some money?'

Paul hesitated for a moment, so I took advantage of it by digging in my purse and fishing out a few coins. Money can't buy love . . . unless you're a thirteen year-old-boy.

When I dropped the coins in Jack's hands, he looked down at them in disappointment. Paul rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, slipping Jack a fiver. Jack's eyes lit up as he pocketed the bill, and skipped merrily to the pinball machine.

'Wait, Jack,' I called after him. 'What kind of pizza do you want?'

'Whatever Paul's having.'

I felt a little hurt. I mean, Jack totally preferred Paul to me. You could so tell. It wasn't fair that Paul was dubbed cooler than me, just because he has the cash and a fancy-schmancy Jaguar. And all I've got is a winning personality. Or losing, now that you mention it.

However, when Jack got over to the game machines, he looked awkwardly at the note that Paul had given him, before pocketing it and using my coins instead. I shot Paul a triumphant look. We were still battling. What the prize was, well . . . it was something intangible, but something I desperately wanted from him. Pride. So, I had one point, with the coin thing. They were more convenient.

Ha, that's me! Convenient!

. . . Wait . . . I don't think that's a good thing . . .

Ugh. I'm convenient all right.

I looked down a little, feeling awkward again. I totally, TOTALLY shouldn't have come . . .

Whatever. I was here. What I intended to do, I had no idea. It kind of pissed me off that we had changed from going out to cheer Jack up, to a Insult-Susie session.

But I dunno. I don't ever know. That most recent message from Cole was still weighing on my mind, and I didn't exactly feel like sharing this information with anyone. It was my own problem, I'd deal with it on my own.

But I was still freaked.

After a forever of glaring at Paul, who was smirking back at me, he turned and went to order pizza. Pepperoni and cheese for everyone, no pineapple.

I didn't even get a choice in the matter.

Great.

But yeah. While Paul was waiting at the counter – having decided to wait there as opposed to sitting with me and talking, which neither of us were too keen on – I sat by myself, glumly running my fingers down the side of my menu. I felt low again.

I was sitting by the window, so I could see everything outside, and yet it didn't seem to interest me. Jack was apparently kicking ass on the pinball machine. Good on him . . .

I felt worried for him. Worried that he would grow up to be a complete jerk like his brother. That episode in Paul's car had been a taste of what I could expect to come, if Jack continued to hang around Paul.

I mean, he was being rude. Sure, he thought it was all just a big game, and that I was mucking around as much as he was, but still.

I didn't know why Paul told him to stop back there. He seems to enjoy himself at the expense of my emotions often enough.

That was when Paul DID come over, with a tray of drinks. Well, three. A Fanta for Jack, a Coke for himself and a Diet Coke for me. Which was weird, because I hadn't told him that Diet was all I drank. Could he have . . . remembered that from six years ago? Nah way . . . he probably just thought I was fat, and that Diet would be the way to go for someone as potentially obese as me.

Unfortunately, Jack was still at the pinball machine, looking pretty smug. So that meant that Paul and I were alone at a table, and the only normal thing to do would be to strike up a conversation.

My heart SINGS with joy.

REALLY.

Opera and everything.

Ugh. More like a Greek Tragedy.

Paul sat himself right across from me in the booth. I continued to trace the edges of my laminated menu with my index finger, looking dully at it. I fake smiled at Paul when he did push my cup of Diet Coke to me, before looking back down.

Not a conversation . . . ANYTHING but a conversation . . . I'd take the plague, earthquake, Biker Bob's bikie gang again, just NOT a convo with PAUL.

Well . . . not ANYTHING. For example, I would NOT take Cole Kennedy over talking to Paul Slater. I prefer to get insulted rather than smacked across the face, you know?

That bruise on my cheek was just about gone. I was just thankful that everyone thought it was from the bikie battle. I mean, if someone noticed it before that, and began to ask questions, I would totally plead the fifth.

'We're number two,' Paul said, looking at me from across the table.

I nearly spit out my Diet Coke, and then I realized he meant the number of our order. You know, the one printed on the lovely receipt they printed out that Paul was playing with? I was totally spazzing for no reason.

Stay calm, I told myself. You've faced Paul before. This time, I'm even in better circumstances. I mean, what can the guy pull with his kid brother about 20 feet away? There was no lovely sunset, no being trapped in shiny silver BMW's, and his lips were a good five feet away from mine. Which is where I hoped they would stay.

'Number two,' I said to myself. 'What? Are they implying something?'

Like, you know, that I suck. That I'm a total loser that can't keep up a job nor a steady boyfriend that doesn't abuse me and that my only greatest asset is my long dark brown hair that no one notices because they're probably too busy insulting me.

Paul overheard me and replied, 'Possibly.' He looked around and then pointed out this older couple totally going at it in a booth on the other corner of the restaurant. 'Number one is probably that couple over there,' he said in a low voice, leaning just a little over the table.

Five feet. FIVE FEET.

I leaned back in my seat cautiously and said, 'Ew . . . do they have to do that in here?'

'You know how romantic family-friendly atmospheres are,' Paul said, a small crooked grin tugging on his lips.

I tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince, I think, so, to save the embarrassment of faking a good mood, I looked over to Jack to see that he was angrily kicking the pinball machine.

'And the Miss Congeniality Award goes to . . . ' I drawled, raising my eyebrows at Jack. Paul chuckled that freaky little chuckle that he does, that serves only to send my head into spins. Of frustration, I am sure. But yeah, it totally sucks.

Jack was now glaring at the machine.

'What? Did he find out Mary was cheating on him with the pinball machine?' I asked. Ha, I can just imagine some blond girl screaming, "I prefer pinballs to pindicks!"

No offense, Jackie-poo.

. . . Eww . . .

Paul leant back as far as the booth seat would allow, looking at me casually with darkly light eyes. 'He'll get over it,' he said nonchalantly.

I looked up at him for a second, as he stared back at me with that permanent look of superiority in his eyes, before busying myself with the menu again.

What was THAT supposed to mean? I mean, it had to mean something. The look behind his eyes revealed that maybe there was some sort of double meaning.

He'll get over it . . .

About five silent minutes slithered by before the chef roared out, 'Number two! READY!'

Paul raised his eyebrows and went to stand, but I shot up, glad for the distraction. 'Um, I'll get it,' I chattered quickly, and felt myself going very red. I had no idea why. I mean, he wasn't embarrassing me. Yet. So why was I so weird? And why did I feel so flushed?

. . . Maybe I'm allergic to cheese.

Ugh. Or maybe I'm allergic to Paul. YES PLEASE, THEN I HAVE A MEDICAL EXCUSE TO STAY AWAY.

I zigzagged between the tables, brushing my blow-dried hair out of my eyes. It still fell softly around my arms, and suddenly, I felt really stupid to be wearing a mini-skirt. Who was I kidding? Okay, so I looked okay, but I wasn't a model. I didn't have Dani's long, tanned legs that were perfectly defined from many lessons from a private trainer. And I totally didn't have the right to be walking around in clothing designed for seventeen-year-olds. I was clinging onto the past.

God knows I still LOOK like a seventeen-year-old. Seriously, when I say that I'm 5'4 I'm not joking. I can still get into the cinemas as a student if I really wanted to. Yeah, all to save a whole dollar fifty, right?

Oooh . . . pizza . . .

My mind is officially blank with bliss.

I smiled as I picked up our tray, and thanked the assistant after producing our receipt to prove that we were indeed, No. 2. Not in an Austin Powers, eye-patchy way, but you know. Seriously, the two pizzas was bigger than car tires and the cheese was still steaming, looking all moist and heavenly and hot and yellow and the pepperoni was amidst all the melted dairy.

Yum.

I made it back to the booth by the window, and set it on the table in front of Paul. Jack, having detected food, came bustling over, leaving his unfinished game of . . . well, I didn't know what it was but it had a whole bunch of muscly girls and tough guys in colourful suits painted on the display board.

Ugh.

'Oooh, cool!' Jack grinned, plopping himself down next to . . . me.

Oh yeah . . . I still got it . . .

Jack, as aforementioned, seated himself next to me, and then proceeded to ogle the pizza hungrily. There was a loud rumble, and I blinked in embarrassment on his behalf.

'Whoa,' Jack smiled, 'I had better eat more than two breakfasts next time, huh?'

Kill me.

If BAKED BEANS were involved in one or more of those breakfasts, and Jack decided to have a flatulent fit, I will kill HIM.

Well, Paul was still grinning at me in that weird I-win-you-lose way, so, to be all winner-ish, I haughtily took the first slice of pizza, and bit into it.

God . . . heaven . . . Who needs cloud nine when you have gourmet pizza? Seriously. It was so delicious how the cheese just melted in my mouth and the crust was soft, yet at the same time kind of crispy and the sauce was absolutely perfect. I could even taste a touch of garlic that was added in. But I didn't mind because it just made it so . . . divine. Only a god could create pizza like that.

'It's great,' I declared, digging in. 'Really, really great.'

Jack got a clue, and carefully took a slice from the now incomplete circle. The mozzarella's stringiness was alluring, and I grinned a bit more.

Jack gave Paul a weird look. 'Are you gonna eat? Or are you like, going vegetarian on us or something? Because, if so, well, more food for me.'

'We're his taste testers,' I informed Jack. 'We're checking for poison. And it most definitely poisoned. Nup, you can't eat it,' I shook my head sarcastically. With a weird look at me, Paul, with something in between sophistication and nonchalance, also took a piece for himself, and began chomping.

'This is the best pizza I have ever tasted,' I said as I paused to take in a sip of refreshing diet Coke. I mean, who knew that something so unhealthy could be so good? It just wasn't possible. I think I just died and went to heaven. Well, okay not heaven because PAUL was there, but something very, very close to it.

'It was almost as good as the pizza at that one Italian restaurant in Seattle, right Paul?' Jack asked, taking a moment to reminisce as he closed his eyes. Paul didn't answer, so Jack went, 'You remember don't you? The one mom used to take you for your birthday every year before you moved? The pizzas were, like, fifty bucks for a large or something. That was, like, the best, right?'

'Oh yes,' I drawled sarcastically, 'only the best for the Slater brothers.'

Paul set down his pizza suddenly as if he weren't hungry anymore and gave Jack a quick nod in agreement and looked away.

What was up with that? I never got fifty-dollar pizzas for my birthday. What was his deal?

'I used to get cool stuff all the time. Not anymore, though, except for birthdays and Christmas,' Jack sighed sadly as he picked up another slice – his third – and started munching on it slowly.

'Oh yeah, you live with Grandpa Slater,' I said. 'Right . . . I remember now.'

'They cut you off too, didn't they?' Paul asked, his eyes turning from amusement to anger. 'That is so typical.'

Jack shrugged and continued eating. 'Yeah. Dad said that if I wanted to move out, it was my own business.'

'But you're thirteen!' I interjected loudly. 'And you were – what, NINE? -when you moved out. Oh my God!'

Jack did seem phased at all by it. In fact, he looked at me as if I were crazy for not thinking it natural. Which I guess maybe it was natural for the Slater brothers considering the parents they were unfortunately stuck with.

'Mark, Pops' day attendant, was cool though,' Jack said as he smiled fondly. 'Mom pays him to take care of grandpa and to keep an eye on me. That's about it. She's probably happy that I'm out of her – '

'Yeah, Mark's great,' Paul interrupted suddenly, cutting off Jack. He looked about as uncomfortable as I felt right then. Which is so not like Paul, who was the picture of confidence and poise. I mean, he was a lawyer for God's sake. He was paid to be persuasive, charming, and smooth. He was so not supposed to be uncomfortable.

Hah. Paul has a weakness. I ought to keep that in mind.

'So, um, what room are you in?' Paul asked, changing the subject to something a little less personal. And something that he seemed very interested to know, by the way he kind of leaned forward in anticipation of hearing.

Jack took a long sip from his Fanta and replied, 'That one with the view of the ocean. Your old one.'

Paul instantly looked at me with a wide smirk spreading across his face, like he had a dirty little secret. One that I knew all too well because, well, I happened to be a part of it.

'Nice room, isn't it, Suze?' Paul asked as he looked across the table at me. My eyes widened naturally as I quickly shot him a subtle glare. 'Um . . . I dunno. I only saw it quickly that one time.'

That response, I realized, was probably not the best, because Jack grinned widely all too quickly and went, 'Suze was in your room? HAH!'

'Paul was, um, helping me with . . . a project,' I said, trying to look away as my face heated up. I'm pretty sure I was red as the tomato sauce in the pizza.

'Suze had a lot to learn,' Paul added, winking at me in a way that Jack couldn't see. My face by then was burning so much that I felt I might've broken out in a sweat. I sunk lower in my chair so that Jack wouldn't be able to tell. Which he didn't much to my luck.

'Oh,' Jack said, chuckling a little bit, 'that would have been funny if you were really making-out or some – '

'Jack, don't you want to play some pinball before we leave?' I asked, covering Jack's mouth with the palm of my hand. Jack looked down at my hand and scowled at me saying, 'Not really. I'm not finished eating.'

'Well, I am. I haven't played pinball in forever,' I announced as I stood up, feeling a little embarrassed. When I got up from the table, I noticed Paul lean over the table and say something quietly to Jack.

'Paul, what are you – '

But then I realized it was no use. I didn't care. And even if I did care, I really shouldn't have. So what if I kissed Paul. That was, like, six years ago. And besides he kissed me first. I was the victim, not him.

Sure, I may have liked it and encouraged it. But I was a teenager . . . I probably would have let any guy shove his tongue down my throat. I've had many other kisses since then. I've totally had better.

Like that one time in the rain . . .

NO! No . . . it was too wet outside, and cold too. And that was Paul . . .

Oh, I liked that kiss in the graveyard. No wait . . . that was Jesse.

Whatever . . . there's just too many to think of any right now. Get back to me later.

Yeah . . . and maybe one day I WILL wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Jack wasn't giggling or anything like I thought he would after hearing whatever it is Paul was saying. I have no idea what it was, but Jack was nodding his head and sipping on his Fanta as he listened intently.

I couldn't bear to hang around any longer, so I stalked over to the little mini-arcade. All of the pinball machines were taken, and I really didn't recognize any of the other games they had there, except for Pacman, which was out of order. So I just leaned on the air hockey table.

Damn. That's a two-player game.

'Do you have what it takes to beat an air hockey champ?' asked Paul from behind me.

'Why? Do you know one?' I asked him pointedly as I turned to face him. Paul shook his head and laughed, going to the other side of the air hockey table. 'You wanna play or not, Suze?'

'Um, sure. If you tell me what you told Jack,' I bargained. Might as well milk something out of the deal. Otherwise it might seem like I actually wanted to play with Paul. Which I so didn't.

'If you're really concerned, I told him not to get any crazy ideas. You only came around to learn and nothing else,' Paul told me. Which was the absolute truth. I only went because I was baited by the idea that maybe I was something more than what I thought. Paul had put ideas in my head that haunted me, knowing that there were so many things out there I didn't know. I never expected to end up with screwed up feet and bruised lips.

Not that Paul had ever really admitted it was the truth until now. But now that he finally was, he sounded bitter for some strange reason.

'Oh.'

Paul slipped four quarters into the change slot and the air instantly came on. He took the thin green puck and placed it on the middle of the table. The machine began beeping a little annoying ditty as the scoreboard on the side of the machine lit up with brilliant neon lights.

'Are you ready for this?' Paul asked as he assumed the position, bending his knees and leaning a bit over the table. The neon lights played on his light blue eyes and made them dance with a wild flash of color.

I gulped and said, 'Yeah,' as I, too, got ready. I felt a little nervous not because I was afraid to lose, but because of the way Paul was looking at me. He was looking me straight in the eye . . . a sure-fire intimidation tactic, no less, that he probably used in the courtroom as well. Well, as much as he could for being an intern.

He hit the puck and it glided towards me. I broke eye contact as I followed the green puck, whacking it back. It bounced on the side and headed straight for Paul's goal. I looked up at Paul, but then looked away because he was looking at me. And not just that one time . . . the whole entire time. How in the world could he do that?

I smacked it back and the puck zoomed. I concentrated on the green blur as it glided across the table in a flash. He hit it back to me with hardly any effort, even though I had hit it hard. It was weird . . . he seemed to know where the puck was at all times, even though he had his eyes on me the whole time. I figured that maybe it was all of that extensive training in tennis.

I struggled to match his speed, but he was going too fast. I almost wished I took up the free tennis lessons that the Pebble Beach Hotel and Golf Resort offered me a few years ago. I certainly could have used that.

But no, I'm Suze and I suck.

Especially since I was too busy thinking and I accidentally let Paul, score the first point.

'Damn it!' I yelled a little too loudly. A few parents with their little kids glared at me. Way to put him in his place, Suze. Really.

'You still have a chance,' Paul assured me.

'Duh. That's only one point.'

I got the puck from my goal slit and placed it on the table. I whacked it really hard and watched it fly towards Paul. Paul smashed it back to me and it hits both opposite walls and it flew back to me.

This was so annoying. This game wasn't getting anywhere. I mean, we were two shifters with accelerated senses. This game could be at a standstill for hours.

In a huff I hit the puck as hard as I possibly could. The angle that I hit it caused the puck to bounce up into the air and towards Paul's head. It bopped him straight in between the eyes.

'Oh my God!' I said as I threw my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing too hard.

'Ouch. Jeez, Simon, it's just a game,' Paul groaned, his hand cupped over where it hit him.

'Jeez, Slater, it's just an accident,' I rejoined mockingly. Paul uncovered it and revealed a small red bump, but no permanent damage, sad as it may be. He shrugged and went, 'No pain, no gain.'

To which I wittily replied, 'No brain, no pain.'

And that's when Paul whacked the puck straight into my goal, and grinned at me victoriously.

'That wasn't fair!'

'Was too,' he replied, smacking it back hard.

And on it went . . . the battle was furious. Seriously. We didn't look like two people playing air hockey. We looked like we were jousting to the death, or something. There was so much more at stake than who was winner, and who was loser for me. This was a matter of pride. It meant something that I had lost a long time ago, and I had to try and steal it back from Paul. I was passionately determined to win. His very unctuousness infuriated me and spurred me to play harder than ever.

The frustration was setting in now. Back and forth . . . faster and faster . . . anger and amusement . . .

Then . . . he missed one.

'HA!' I roared, and jumped in the air as I heard the victorious clunk of the puck getting in his goal, 'I mock you!'

Paul shrugged, looking unruffled. But I could tell, that he smelt the threat, now. He wasn't going to let me get one over him . . . he was going to fight this to the death, too. Keep me beneath him. He would NOT be beaten apparently.

Oooh YES HE WOULD. You just WATCH me.

We heatedly returned to the game, with me grinning a little and Paul hitting it harder than ever. I totally doubted that Pete's Pizza ever got people who played this well. Seriously, we were matching a shifter with years of kick-boxing against another shifter with experience in tennis. It was pretty fair fight. He was only leading by ONE.

The puck glided back and forth, at high speeds. My arm was starting to ache from the strain.

'It's just a game . . .' Paul reminded me with a wry grin.

Ha. And Britney's still a virgin.

People even stopped to watch us . . . Eeek. Some were pointing. I could see, from the very corner of my eye. I could hear one or two making casual bets. Most were for Paul, damn it.

Which made me want to beat him even MORE.

Paul was looking angry, now.

'Just a game,' I sang at him. We both knew differently, however.

'I'm – GLAD to – hear it,' he growled, whacking it hard. Seriously, the puck could have beaten a bullet, the way he was hitting it.

'I'm GLAD – at your – GLADNESS – ' I replied shortly, smacking it back with a hard, sharp movement. Paul still never took his eyes off me, which was starting to really, REALLY creep me out.

'He's not even looking at it,' someone whispered behind me.

There was a giggle, and I distinctly heard the word "hot."

. . . Stupid people . . .can't they recognize evil when they see it?

There was something very strange here. Paul wasn't looking at the puck. That's impossible, to strike it with such perfect accuracy . . . and he couldn't PREDICT where it was going to go.

It was like he had Spiderman's Spidey-senses or something. Except, well, Paul didn't wear the tights. There's at least one thing in this world to be happy about.

But it was like he had this extra knowledge, an extra feeling . . . a sort of sixth sense . . .

Oh wait. Paul might not have the ability to fly through New York city on a web or the incredible ability to climb walls and stuff. But he did have an unfair that I only just then realized . . .

'Paul, are you controlling the – ' I began, but the fateful clunk of the puck told me that I had looked up for too long, and that he'd scored. 'Aw man!' I scowled, retrieving it, and sending him a glare. He grinned, and while he was doing so, I gave the puck a HARD hit and scored, myself.

'Cool,' I said quickly. Paul, now looking sufficiently annoyed, got the puck and placed it under the rubber hitter teasingly. 'Not . . . nervous, are you?' he asked slowly, with a coy smile, his voice dipping low and raising hairs on the back of my neck. 'Pretty close game, and all.'

'Shut up,' I snapped.

The double meaning sung loudly in my ears.

'Two choices, Suze,' he said coolly, 'Back out now, or go on, knowing you'll lose. You choice.' He smacked the puck.

'Go puck yourself,' I punned angrily, hitting it back. I know . . . corny . . . but in the air hockey spirit, no? 'I'll go on.'

Because I DON'T GIVE UP.

. . . Not to you . . . I won't let myself . . .

On and on . . . Paul eyed me with a dark smirk, and I was practically exploding in stress. All for a little game of air hockey . . .

It wasn't a game. It never would be . . .

I HAD TO WIN.

My concentration was pouring out in extremes. There was more whispering, but I wouldn't be put off. Even when I heard the word "boyfriend."

Kindly crucify him? Or me, whichever you can get around to first.

Paul was persistent. Headstrong. And he wouldn't take to being a loser. There was a sort of athleticism that he added to the game . . . making it seem more sport than arcade game. No, not a sport. A war.

I wasn't really an air-hockey champ. If this were anyone else who was acing me, I'd probably just give up. It's what I did best, after all. But this was Paul. This was the guy that I really had to prove wrong . . . that when things got tough, I really could stand up for myself, and not just scarper. I was going to win. Paul was going to lose. And then I'd rub it in his perfect lawyer face. I would make sure of that . . . I wouldn't give up now . . .

Suddenly . . . the room began to shake. Little things. Just vibrating . . . and I had a feeling that I knew why.

People were looking around, trying to find what was going on. The owner of the shop came by to look at all the ruckus going on in the arcade room, and noticed us two young adults battling to the finish at . . . air hockey? But that's exactly what it was . . . a battle to the finish.

Up and down . . . faster . . .

Paul was getting ready to blast the puck with a great amount of strength, but when he struck it, the puck didn't move much at all. The little lights on the game had been off. He looked around and saw the owner holding the plug on the machine.

. . . Oh.

'What was that for?' Paul asked the owner, with some frustration.

I blinked.

The fire was slowly dying from me . . . everything stopped shaking around the room.

Then I realized something.

Paul won.

He always won.

By default, now, but STILL.

'I appreciate you two giving such a show for my customers, but you two were causing such a scene. Some people were complaining,' the owner said nervously, motioning to the old couple, who were still swapping saliva. Honestly.

Jack, who was now beside me, rolled his eyes at the owner. 'Yeah . . . and they had a whole lot of time to do that between tonguing each other – '

'Jack. Shut up,' I said quietly. What? Pardon ME for being freaked out, okay? I mean . . . making things shake . . . was that Paul? Or me too?

With a shrug, the owner awkwardly waddled away, throwing the dishtowel over his shoulder.

Paul and I noticed the crowd we'd stirred up. Everyone looked just as disappointed as I felt. A few older men patted Paul on the shoulder, while a young girl assured me that I would have won if the game hadn't been shut off.

Which I totally agree with.

. . . Almost.

I smiled cordially, and went to shuffle back to our booth, when Paul stepped in my way. 'Good game, Suze,' he nodded at me, not able to hide the look of utmost superiority from his face.

I was still below him . . . I'd never be good enough . . .

I felt like shit again.

Not only did I have no life, as he'd so graciously pointed out, but I was good for NOTHING, as he'd so graciously just PROVED.

'Whatever,' I said moodily. 'You won.' I moved around him, but he blocked me again, grinning down at me.

'Aww, come on,' he goaded, 'be a good sport. I won by default. Good game.'

'Yeah,' I said with a shrug. 'I mean, I would have won, if you hadn't have cheated.'

With a toss of my hair, I pushed past him, while he was still stunned at my accusation. Yeah, I'd caught him red handed.

'What?' he demanded, his hand coming to my arm and whipping me back. Oooh, shock, horror, his Lordship had been accused of foul play. The world weeps . . . not.

'I saw you,' I said huffily, in an angry hiss. 'You were guiding the puck. You can't just stare at . . . um, elsewhere, and keep hitting it flawlessly. It's not natural.'

Yeah, not natural. Like Dani's boobs, or her fiery red hair.

'Unless you have certain other senses that you haven't discovered yet,' Paul smirked at me. His eyes . . . they were so endless. Like I was looking into light blue holes. They were light, but so dark, and shallow. They looked, however, indignant. 'I could have taught you if you hadn't been so obsessed with Rico –'

I glared at him and wrenched my arm away. 'Shut up. Just – shut up. You keep bringing that up! Stop making me feel guilty, okay?' Now I was angry. 'I already know it was a mistake! But you DON'T have the right to make me constantly remember that!'

I stormed back to the booth, grabbed my Kate Spade handbag, and stalked out of the pizzeria.

Outside, I ran my hands through my hair. I felt so strange . . . like I was prickling all over. In fact, no, I felt sick in the stomach. Remembering the past, and what could have happened, was a horrible thing for me. One of my most frequent activities.

I knew he'd come out in a second. He always ruined my solitude. But seriously . . . why couldn't we both just let it go? Because . . . really, he was clinging to what went down as much as I was. Only I was the one that felt the pain. He was just using it against me. The whole ha-ha-I-ruined-your-life-get-over-it-already? thing.

Jack came out first, walking through the plastic panels of at the door, followed by Paul, who was giving me a weird look. Like he was sympathetic or something.

Oh GREAT. PITY. THAAAANKS.

Jack looked at me anxiously. 'Uh . . . can we just go look at the shops? Suze can look at grundies if she wants,' he shrugged, 'But I saw a candy store on the way here and its packed with all of these different –'

'I am NOT looking at old women's underwear!' I protested, shooting a friendly glare in Jack's direction. I wore perfectly fashionable panties, THANK YOU. But I . . . um . . . wasn't about to tell this to Paul or Jack, on the off chance that they urged me to prove it.

One word: Ew.

'I'll go and have a look around, or something,' I told them awkwardly.

Paul was still staring at me. Probably marveling over how much I'd eaten in there, compared to his anorexic girlfriend. I felt . . . so low . . . why did he ALWAYS make me feel like that? Remember how much I really had lost, I mean? Not only Jesse, and my life, but the chance to learn about being a shifter as well . . . that was something that no one else could teach me, and Paul had just left, leaving me alone and desperate to know.

Well . . . it was me who'd done the leaving . . .

Sort of.

No. Jesse left me. I was heartbroken. Then I went to Paul. We went to the Point. Then he kissed me, I ran, he locked me in his car . . . kissed me again . . . I almost got hit by a car. I bashed my head. He drove to the hospital. I passed out. I woke up with Jesse beside me. He'd come back, after leaving. He kissed me. Paul walked in. He killed every chance I had with Jesse, again. Jesse was disgusted with me. The idiot BELIEVED what Paul had told him. Paul materialized me back to the Point, in my hospital gown, still. I was scared. Paul told me he loved me . . . I didn't want to hear it. I wanted Jesse. I ALWAYS wanted Jesse. And Paul, too, was revolted that I wouldn't change my mind. I returned to the hospital alone, after one last desperate goodbye from Paul. But by then . . . Jesse was gone.

He left a note.

God . . . I remember THAT note . . .

"Dear Susannah.  
  
I now see that it is Paul whom your heart belongs to. I wish that you had have told me; a lot of pain could have been saved, and love would not have been wasted, on my part.

You've hurt me, Susannah. I do not take well to deception. I hope that you are pleased with your accomplishments, and do not expect me to be fooled by you again."

He didn't even sign his name . . .

So THERE. How PRECIOUS is your frigging Jesse de Perfecto NOW, ladies? He was no gentleman that night. What he did . . . I have never recovered from that. He not only truly hated me, but even if he HAD have cared, he didn't even bother to check if he was TRULY correct in his hasty assumptions – that I loved Paul. Because, HELLO?! I did NOT. Paul had been an evil, LYING FREAK. And Jesse had just accepted Paul's manipulations of the truth, and had left.

And God . . . heartbroken is an insulting understatement for how I felt.

There was the feeling of being abandoned . . . of loss, of fear, of anger, of confusion, of terror, of hatred, of despair, of misery . . . all rolled into one, life-changing emotion.

And I hadn't seen Jesse after that.

Not since just recently.

That's how he'd LEFT.

. . . So that was my story. That was the night that broke Susannah Simon. That's where I reached my breaking point. That's where God ultimately spited me for all the wrongs I had ever done. Honestly . . . if God wanted to punish me . . . he couldn't have done a finer job.

My soul, heart, and spirit were oh so brutally crushed, that night.

And Jesse and Paul held the hammers. No . . . hammers are too small. Demolition trucks . . .

Make light of my depression, if you want. I don't care anymore. I sure as hell am NOT over it. I've just accepted that it happened, that's all. But I will never, EVER forgive either one of them. Hide my fury, maybe. Hide my hate, maybe. Forgive Jesse and Paul?

No way.

I'd spend an eternity in the bowels of hell, burn in the fire, char like the coal, die from the heat, before I forgave them completely.

Or eat shards of broken glass, or get a ten thousand papercuts on my finger, or pull out my spleen with a plastic fork, or slam my fingers in the car door over and over again. I'd rather have my blood sucked entirely out by leeches or maybe even a few vampires, or rip off my fingernails one by one . . . toenails too, or clean the biggest horse stable in Texas with my tongue. I would gouge my eyes out with an unsharpened number two pencil before I'd ever forgive those two for what they did to me.

In other words . . . it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Not even at all.

. . . Breaking me from my intense musing, was Jack's sweet little voice. Well . . . okay, it was deeper than when he'd been eight. But whatever.

'Fine by me. Paul? Wanna come and pig out on chocolate? I've still got some money from Suze. And your five dollars. Or . . . was I supposed to give Suze's money back? I thought you wanted me to have both – '

'It's okay Jack . . . you can keep the money I gave you. Come on . . . I heard they had some of the finest chocolate around in these parts,' Paul said to him. They both turned away from me, leaving me kind of standing there. You know, alone. As per usual. I overheard Paul say to Jack, 'I also heard, that they have these lollipops with garlic in the center . . . in honor of Gilroy being the Garlic Capital and all.'

I snorted, and they stopped walking, and turned back to me. 'Whatever floats your boat, Slater,' I said.

'Eww,' Jack scowled. 'Garlic and candy? Wrong.'

You said it, sister. I mean . . . yeah, sister.

Sue me? I was still pissed at Jackie-poo for ganging up on me with his brother before.

That had been so mean . . .

I fiddled with my hair nervously. It was so long. That was the thing I liked best about me. My hair. It really was beautiful. At least I could recognize that about myself. Guys told me that I was sexy . . . that I had a great body, but for all the trouble it had potentially caused me, I now hated it. And plus . . . models were obviously what guys wanted. I was too short to be a model, and I had not undergone any plastic surgery. So I was therefore, ugly.

'Hey,' Paul said. I jumped. I hadn't realized that he'd moved right next to me. Seriously . . . I HAVE to stop daydreaming. It was getting really annoying now – I totally spaced out. 'Winner buys loser chocolate?'

Loser, loser, loser, loser . . . loser . . .

'Ha! You called Suze a loser – ' Jack laughed, but Paul gave him a hard look, and he shut up. Seriously, he was like Hitler or something. I wonder what Paul would look like with one of those little gay mustaches on his upper lip, huh? What if he did that crazy march where he kicks up his legs in the air like a can-can dancer?

Ignore me.

I didn't answer Paul, so he just kind of guided me, half forcefully, half casually, to the candy shop, aptly named the Candy Shop. We stepped inside, and a sweet, confectionery scent graced my senses delicately. It was lovely. The walls were decked with lollies and sweets so colourful, I felt I'd just stepped inside Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory or something.

I was kind of waiting for Oompa Loompas to come and serve us when Jack begged Paul, 'Can I get one of these?' pointing wildly to a two meter novelty string of marble-sized toffees.

He was one WEIRD thirteen-year old . . . honestly.

'Whatever you want,' Paul shrugged. 'Just don't go overboard, and zombify yourself with sugar.'

'Zombies are cool,' Jack said carelessly.

'Why?' I asked. 'Your girlfriend Mary one?'

Jack gave me a frown. 'No,' he snapped. 'She's almost as pretty as Dani.'

I looked away hurriedly, after that.

Me? Jealous? Nah . . .

'It's okay, Jack. It's Suze's duty to make fun of our girlfriends,' Paul said snidely to Jack, but glaring AT me. 'But we are really lucky that we have them, and that's all that matters, right Jack?'

Jack glared at me too.

It was kind of intense. Seriously, you go from Slater Puppy Eyes to Slater Glares of Fiery Death. Can't we find a HAPPY MEDIUM, GUYS?!

And just to complete the picture . . . my mobile went off.

I'm so serious.

Angrily, I answered. 'Hello?'

In a sing-song voice, a male voice sang out, 'I'm waaaaaaaaiting . . . '

My eyes went wide for a second, and I hung up immediately. Jack was giving me a funny gaze. I refused to look at Paul, as if, with one look, he'd immediately KNOW that some psycho freak was after me.

Only . . . the mobile rang again.

I stubbornly ignored it, but everyone was giving me pointed looks, for me to answer it. Because it was kind of loud, and all.

Ring. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

With a defeated sigh, I rushed out of the shop, and stood awkwardly by the door. 'What?' I demanded with a bite of anger, and nervousness.

'You haven't come home yet.'

That, I'll say, was kind of obvious. But there's a reason that I hadn't.

A familiar chill attacked every bit of exposed skin.

'Oh, where are you? I've been waiting at your apartment for days, Suze,' Cole slurred. Was he drunk or something?

Wait a minute . . . he'd been . . . WAITING AT MY APARTMENT?!

Oh my God. He must have been wasted. Or criminally insane. Possibly both.

'You know, it really hurts, Suze,' he continued, as I remained silent.

. . . I think he was sick. No, really. I was pretty sure that Cole needed some psychological help. He was becoming fixated . . . and it wasn't healthy.

For him, and most certainly not for me, if he ever got his hands on me again.

'It hurts how you've just up and left me. And all without calling me first. I need you, Suze. I need you now,' he growled with urgency.

I swallowed. 'Well . . . you're not getting me. Um, hello? We are over. I did not even think about you when I left, because . . . well, I didn't have a boyfriend to think about. We're not going out anymore. So why the hell would I call you?'

This was the same old thing . . . only, he still didn't want to hear it . . .

And for effect, I quickly added, 'And it hurts? Well, guess what? It hurts when you whack me across the face, you anus.'

'But Suze . . . I need you. I'm going to die without you.'

'So?' I asked. Seriously. I'm a decent human being. I help another in need. But Cole Kennedy? Yeah, not likely. He was NOT going to die without me. And even if he was . . . I was no fool. I wasn't going back to him even with an atomic bomb for protection. 'I'm supposed to care still? God, DIE, for all I give.'

'Well . . . I might just have to bring you down with me, Suze,' he retorted angrily, over the phone. 'And I will.'

Somehow, even though he was far away with no possible way of finding me, I still had no doubt in my mind that he could get me. It was, as he had threatened, only a matter of time before he'd find me.

I wanted, more than anything, to hang up. But my traitorous fingers would not allow it. Why did I keep doing this to myself? WHY?

'Come home, Suze. You'll be miserable if you don't. I will make your life a living hell until you decided to pack up and head home.'

'Not if you don't know where I am,' I said softly. 'Cole . . . please . . . just stop it . . . ' I would have encouraged him to move on, but what if he started stalking some OTHER poor girl? Jeez . . . this sucked so, so much. Because, he was actually making me feel real, genuine fear. 'Please, don't ring me again?' I said hopefully –

'IF YOU WANT ME TO STOP THEN COME HOME ALREADY. I'M TIRED OF WAITING FOR YOUR SORRY ASS TO GET HERE!' he exploded.

I flinched, and stepped back for no reason. Seriously . . . despite the fact that he was on a cell, you could hear that voice from ten meters away.

It was almost as if Cole were right in front of me, hitting me over and over again with the back of his hand. Not with a fist because it would leave a mark . . . just with the cold, flat palm of his hand.

'No . . . ' I said after a while, my voice painfully soft. 'Just . . . go . . . '

'I'll just have to find you myself,' he decided, his voice sounding dangerous.

I felt scared, and depressed, all over again. So weird, how my mood changed like lightning these days.

'Don't you dare,' I snapped, now alarmed. Because I knew that he was serious.

'I've got my car, a change of clothes, and enough money to get me all over the United States, and even parts of Canada. So, if I must comb the country . . . I will. Don't think that I won't,' he yelled.

WHY? I didn't UNDERSTAND. Why did he BOTHER? I wasn't WORTH THAT. God . . . why did he even want me? Okay, we have concluded that my hair is nice. BIG DEAL. I didn't exactly put out to his satisfaction, so WHY?!?!?!

And of course, before I could stop them, tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Why was this so UNFAIR?! Why did I have to land THIS guy?! Why did God hate me so DAMN MUCH?!

With breathy tones, I furiously replied, 'And, if you found me, what do you plan to do then? Cole, you're being a selfish DICK. Just because you're not getting what you want, don't you DARE take it out on me! This, if you have forgotten, is YOUR FAULT.'

Well . . . okay . . . I still sounded like a wuss. My voice was as weak as wet paper.

In response, he said, 'My fault for being stupid enough not to realize that I needed you so much. But what's more important . . . you need me too. And sooner or later, you'll come crawling back. It better be sooner . . . or I'm coming to get you – '

I hung up.

There's only so much a girl can take.

My eyes were positively stinging. I knew that I was crying again, God DAMN it. I stared ahead blankly . . . Gilroy was such a rural place . . .

'Credit Card Company?'

I almost shat myself. Seriously. I whirled around, and saw Paul standing coolly at the door. Only . . . he looked kind of curious.

'Get lost,' I said. I was edgy, so hence, the bitchiness. I blinked furiously, and looked away, sniffing a little.

I am SO pathetic . . .

'No really, Suze. Who was it?'

'Um . . . wrong number . . . '

'You were out here a while,' he drawled.

I shuffled. 'Um . . . well . . . this person needed convincing. I – um, it was an, er, old lady. She kept telling me to speak up. Yeah, um, and I had to keep repeating myself and then she said that I was really her daughter and I really didn't want to speak with her and I was making up a voice and that she was ashamed to call me family and – ' I babbled unconvincingly, ' . . . um . . . old people these days?' I finished with a half-squeak.

Paul wasn't fooled. 'Try again,' he advised. 'This time, try to be a little more believable.'

Dickhead.

'It's none of your business, okay?' I snapped. 'What do YOU care?' Then . . . recollecting the conversation I'd had with Mr Kennedy, I realized that some things were very self-explanatory. 'Um . . . how much did you hear?'

'You called someone a dick and said it was their fault,' he answered, moving a little closer to me. I stepped back . . . did he know, though? 'Where have I heard that before?' he wondered with a little chuckle to himself.

I closed my eyes for a second, realizing how wet they were. Oh, God . . . 'Stay out of it,' I warned him hatefully, giving him a sharp prod in the chest.

Jack then burst out between us, carrying a bag full of colourfully wrapped sweets, sucking on a huge, un-garlicked lollipop. 'Aaah, succulent sweetness. I – . . . Suze? Are you crying?' he asked, awed, 'You don't cry. What? Is it all the garlic?'

'Um . . . sure it is,' I mumbled. I broke away from the intensity of the Slater eyes. Both pairs. I shoved my bag and my cell into Jack's already occupied hands. 'Um . . . I'm just going to go to the toilet,' I mumbled quickly.

Yeah, sure. To check how puffy my eyes really are . . .

I moved briskly down the street to one of the portables, and saw a symbol that indicated the female toilets. I ducked down the alley, and then through the door with the corresponding stick-figure woman on it. I landed in front of the mirror, and gave a huge sigh.

My hair still looked nice, and my clothes were totally cute . . . but my face looked broken. Like I'd just been told that my mom was dead, or something. At least my mascara and eyeliner was waterproof. I was no fool. Although, lately, it was a brave day that I ever wore make-up of any other kind. I was prone to crying all the time, these days . . . so unfair, right?

After washing my face a little and sighing, I fixed my hair unnecessarily, admiring it for a very short, content moment how curly and glossy it looked. Well, that was one plus, right?

I stared for another moment at my eyes . . . they don't look so bad anymore. I opened the door to the toilet, and went back down the alley, looking down the street. Jack had gone back into the candy shop, the little piglet – or somewhere, he wasn't there, but Paul was still out, with his back turned towards me.

Ugh. Joy.

I ambled back over to him, glowing red. Really . . . how big a head case had I been exactly? Honestly . . . I suck so much.

'Look,' I said awkwardly, 'Sorry about before, garlic, um, really gets to me. It really irritates my eyes – '

I blanched, very suddenly.

Because, Paul had just very slowly rotated.

And in his hands was my cell phone.

And even I could see the message that was being proclaimed across the small screen.

"COME HOME OR ELSE."

. . . Oh . . .

SHIT!!!!

'What is this?' Paul demanded as he held up my phone. '"I'm waiting"? "I need you"? "Come home or else"? Suze . . . what's going on that you aren't telling me?'

My blood suddenly chilled in my veins.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh-

I tried to grab my celly back, but Paul held it up away from my reach and continued to read the threatening messages Cole had left me.

'"You can't run forever"? "You know you want me"?"

'Stop it!' I yelled, trying to reach for the phone. 'Don't read them!'

'I think it's a little late for that, Suze.' Paul waited for an explanation, one that I did not – no, COULD NOT – give him.

But it would look even more suspicious if I said nothing and ran off, wouldn't it? I panicked. The only thing I felt I could do was lie . . .

'It was a prank. My friend and I do this all the-'

It was no use. I knew that Paul could see right through me with his bright blue laser eyes. My stomach was bubbling with foreboding hysteria. Did he know what was going on? Did he know I had a creepy stalker ex-boyfriend that threatened me practically everyday to "Come home or else"?

'I didn't go to law school for nothing, Suze. I'm not stupid. I want an explanation,' Paul said, his voice low yet commanding, 'and I want one now preferably.'

'There's nothing to tell,' I told him as I crossed my arms. Paul held my cell phone out in the palm of his large hand. I looked at the phone with wide eyes, the words "YOU KNOW YOU WANT ME" expressed in bold, black lettering.

Paul noted my expression and said, 'I can see what this does to you. Nothing . . . when has "nothing" actually been "nothing" to you? It's always something.'

I instantly looked away. I knew that his words had a certain double meaning, both meanings that I knew very well, but would have rather not admitted. No matter how many times I said so, what was nothing now was really something. It was ALWAYS something.

Like that time . . . long ago . . .

"Okay . . . enough, Jesse, he's just trying to get a rise out of you. It was nothing, all right? I went over to his house because he said he knew some stuff about something called soul transference. I thought it was something that might help you. But I swear, that's all it was. Nothing happened."

. . . Nothing . . . I just kissed him back . . .

Really, that's where this all began. With that stupid kiss. That's when my life began to deteriorate. When Paul butted in . . .

Nothing.

'Credit card companies don't go that far. And neither do old ladies nor people who dial wrong numbers,' Paul said. He took his eyes off of the bold threat on the screen of my cell phone and directed their laser beams into my own eyes and scanning me for a moment . . .

'Someone out there is trying to get you, aren't they?'

No, I wanted to tell him. I even had my mouth open, about to form the words, but I couldn't find it in myself to say them. I don't know why I couldn't lie to Paul. I mean, Paul had done a lot worse by me. What was one little lie?

Obviously a lot. Because the only thing I could manage to choke was, 'Can we go?'

To which Paul answered firmly, 'No.'

'I'm – I mean, I think we should get back to-'

'No.'

'But-'

'No, Suze. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on here.'

'I don't HAVE to tell you anything,' I told him, shaking my head furiously. 'I plead the fifth-'

'Overruled,' Paul interrupted, turning around. Holding the phone close, he began punching buttons on it. I tried to grab it from behind, but he kept dodging me.

'Cole Kennedy,' he said finally. 'Who's that?'

'He's a – classmate,' I answered in a hastened panic. 'Yeah, he's in my psyche class. A friend of my friend. He's-'

'The one sending you these messages,' Paul said as he turned around and looked me straight in the eyes. In panic and terror, I tried to secure my phone back, but he again held it from my reach.

'Give it here!' I finally yelled, shoving him in the chest and seizing the phone form him. I instantly exited from the horrifying message that was on the screen and went back to the menu, which was less intimidating.

'Suze, I'm just trying to help,' Paul explained.

'I don't WANT your help,' I yelled back at him. I tried to stalk away dramatically, but the dipshit decided to follow me.

'Of course you don't WANT it,' Paul caught up to me quickly. 'But you NEED it.'

I ducked back down the alley with the porta-potties. It was darker there, more chance of me "accidentally" losing him there. Or else he might be afraid of getting his fancy shoes dirty and choose not to follow me at all. I didn't care, as long as he would just GO AWAY.

'No, I don't need your help. I'm PERFECTLY capable-'

'Of what? Handling things on your own?' Paul demanded, his voice stopping me in my tracks. 'How are you going to handle this? By doing what . . . running away?'

I always ran.

I glared at the opposite wall, anything to keep from looking at Paul's condemning face. Condemning me to what, I don't know. Probably another five years of misery.

'That's the plan,' I mumbled darkly.

God, why did he even CARE? Okay, I got it! He was better than me! These silent, secret competitions had been fruitless, because in the end, Paul Slater would ALWAYS triumph over Susannah Simon. I was the loser. He was the winner. I could never beat him. I could never even hope to equal him. He was the uber-shifter, I was the stupid, clueless one. He was the lawyer, I was the unemployed girl. He was in a steady relationship with an archetypical girlfriend with implants for his convenience, and I had Cole Kennedy.

But, I just didn't understand why someone like Paul would care about someone like me, now. When everything was perfect for him, why would he bother to peak over his heavenly cloud to look down upon the mere mortals whom he was aimlessly pelting lightning bolts at? Why did he want to know about Cole? Rub it in more that he was, indeed, the winner? That I had made mistakes so stupid that I'd NEVER live them down?

I UNDERSTOOD.

PAUL ALWAYS HAS BEEN, AND ALWAYS WILL BE BETTER THAN ME! I was junk – a waste of space. He was a beacon of the community and lots of people would come to his funeral and cry and stuff, when he kicked it. But why did he have to PATRONISE me?!

Make me KNOW that I was as shitty as I really felt?

I knew . . . Jesus CHRIST, I knew.

That made me MAD. That he was going out of his way to diminish my already non-existent self-worth, well . . . that was vindictive.

'Shut up! I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!' I insisted loudly. God, how could ANYONE follow me to a TOILET? Not that I was going . . . but I TOTALLY could have been! I took a huge breath, and held it. Don't break down . . . don't let him see you cry . . .

I wouldn't let him. He didn't deserve the satisfaction. He didn't care. He just wanted closure that he was the winner. In something much, MUCH bigger than air hockey. 'I don't need help,' I breathed again, in barely a whisper.

'Yes you do!' he snapped. 'Look at yourself, Suze. You're a nervous wreck. You're going to crash and burn, real soon. You think that you can hide this by running into alleys and plastering smiles on your face? It's fake, Suze. You're pretending. Again.'

'Maybe!' I freaked, 'but not EVERYONE is perfect like YOU and gets EVERYTHING they want handed to them of a SILVER PLATTER!' I jerked away from him, and only succeeded to slam against the wall. But it was some distance . . . that's all I cared for. 'You got Dani, I got him. That's how it is. God knows, it's what I deserve. But I will handle it BY MYSELF. It's MY mess.'

'Yeah, and your methods of helping yourself are very effective,' his voice was obscenely saturated with sarcasm. He didn't care . . . he didn't want to help ME. He wanted to boost his ego, just to know that I was as pathetic as he thought I was.

I held my head in my hand, leaning on the wall tiredly. I covered my eyes with my hands, and sank into a realm of consoling darkness. My legs were ice. What I get for going out in public in a mini-skirt. Seriously what was I thinking? I was NOT Danielle Moore. I had no business showing my legs off. Heaven knows it would only attract more of the trouble that I was so desperately running away from. So what was I doing? I didn't deserve to feel pretty. It only ended up in getting me hurt. I should seriously just keep to tracksuits. Or hell, my Starbucks apron. Thaaaaaaat's attractive.

With a sigh, I began, 'Just – '

But Paul cut me off. 'Just what?' he demanded.

Just go . . .

I dropped my hands from my face, and again, surrendered myself to the mercy of his icy blue irises. They were staring at me so intensely I felt as if he was separating me from my soul. Almost as hurriedly, I lowered my gaze to my hands, and saw they were shaking again.

Aww, man . . .

I went to move, but the jerk totally blocked my way. Move to the left . . . right . . . he kept moving in front of me.

'Get out of the way!' I yelled at him. It was like a dance. He had the power, and I wanted to escape from dancing with condescension.

'Come on,' urged Paul, propping one hand to the wall beside my face, and leaning in a little, making me feel very uncomfortable, 'Tell me what's happening. I won't get mad, I promise.'

'But the mutual hate?' I said, 'it's working wonders for me.'

'It's not mutual,' he informed me.

Yeah. Whatever.

'Oh, because you're suuuuuuch a good person,' I rolled my eyes at him, wanting him to MOVE.

'Nah,' he shrugged, still leaning against the wall, 'Too much energy channeled into hate.'

'But for you, mine comes naturally,' I said truthfully.

'I'm touched, Simon.'

'Welcome. Now shove,' I retorted rudely. I did not want to say ANYTHING to him about Cole. It was MY problem. I'd fix it on my OWN. That's how I ALWAYS WAS, right? On my frigging OWN? Yeah, so WHY NOT NOW?!

'No.'

'Move!' I snapped angrily. What a freak.

'NO!' he shouted.

Pissed, went to push past him, but he wasn't falling for that, and he grabbed both of my arms, hard. And he wasn't getting go anytime soon.

I could totally SUE the lawyer, huh? I mean, for manhandling me and all, right? YEAH. GET HIM UNEMPLOYED!

'Suze,' he said through gritted teeth as I was writhing about, trying to shrug him off, 'What are you afraid of?'

I stopped, and just stared down at the dark, mocha hands that imprisoned my fair arms. A string of dark, dark thoughts came flooding back, with that question.

He hadn't been the only one who'd manhandled me, you see.

I was Susannah Simon, after all. It's in the job description of get the stuffing beaten out of me on the occasion. Just quite a lot, recently, it had been at the hands of people who were certainly not dead. And had no real motive to want to hurt me.

Cole Kennedy was just the latest, is all.

And for some reason . . . I found myself totally incapable of defending myself. Someone about him just stopped me from thinking. I shut down, and I became so . . . NORMAL. Funny, how I'd always wanted to be normal, yet when I found out, it wasn't as cool to not be able to fight back . . .

Normality isn't all it's cracked up to be, my friends.

What am I afraid of?

Nothing that Paul was going to know about . . .

'Noth – '

'Don't even try it,' he warned.

I shut my mouth kind of quickly, and looked at the ground. Great, now I didn't even DESERVE to look him in the eye. He was first class, and I was a commoner. We didn't walk on the same side of the street . . .

'Suze, look at me.'

No.

I swallowed, and didn't really do anything.

Only, Paul's index finger came to the edge of my chin, and he tilted it up ever so gently. Curious shivers raced down my neck, and my gaze flickered to meet his. 'Are you afraid to get help when you need it? Or are you just afraid to show weakness?' he asked me quietly.

. . . Both.

'I don't need your h –'

'Liar.'

And then he started pounding on my Babble Button. 'No, I really, really, really don't. I'll handle this on my own and I know I can because I'm practicing kick-boxing and stuff ever day now except for lately because we don't have one at Fortunaschwein but I'm running and stuff and I'm getting stronger and next time he does it I can defend myself and I'll be fine –'

'Next time he does what?' he interrogated crossly. His face had changed totally. Dawned with realization.

. . . Aww, shit.

'Uh . . . challenge me to chess?' I suggested hopefully. Now I was scared.

He knew.

'Oh, so I see chess did that to you,' he glided his finger over that bruise that Cole had ever so nicely given me. Yeah, the one that I thought was gone. That one I'd hoped everyone believed I'd gotten from that bikie bash-up thing.

I hadn't swindled Paul, though.

Of course, not. He's a lawyer, Suze.

'Um, birthmark – '

'A purple birthmark?' his neat eyebrows ascended, 'Tell me, this hurt at all?' With that, he totally jabbed his thumb at it!

'OW!' I protested, but he still had me by the shoulder. He wasn't done with me yet, obviously. I was entrée to his hungry ego. He still needed to know that he'd won . . .

'Thought as much,' he glared at me.

'Er . . . maybe, um, I won and he, er . . . threw a pawn at me - yeah, he's totally a sore loser – ' I was TOTALLY bombing the lie-detector, ' – just never MIND, okay?' I tried half-heartedly squirming away from him, but no such luck.

'It's obvious that he IS a sore-loser,' Paul brought his hand to my arm again, moving closer to me and making my breath quicken. I mean, okay, the alley was kind of small, but him being THAT close wasn't necessary. He was trying to scare me again, probably. God, you'd think I hadn't been scared ENOUGH in my time, without pompous-butt here trying to thrill me with even more heebie-jeebies. 'Considering those messages he sent you. But I have trouble believing it was about chess. This guy . . . he seems sick.'

You don't say.

'Really sick, Suze,' Paul gave me a look that came freakishly close to concern. Ugh, kill me.

'I know how to pick 'em, right?' I glared at him. While, funnily enough, I was also vaguely thinking of Jesse . . . who initially left me on the night of my GRADUATION DANCE. Like, the SECOND BIGGEST THING besides the PROM.

For the reference, that was BEFORE he kissed me in the hospital, after I had almost died out at the Point.

Yeah.

DIED.

Did he care?

NO.

'I can get this guy to stop, Suze. I know people from the firm that can get him in his place –'

'No!' I squeaked. 'No! No, I'm fine!'

Yeah, and I didn't have enough money for a lawyer like Paul. No doubt he charged a million dollars. Was THIS how he got his business? Was I not the FIRST person he'd ambushed in a dark alley, into employing him?

What a FREAK.

'You're FINE? What are you going to do when he finds you? Run off to Texas or something? Wherever you go, Suze . . . he has a chance of finding you.'

'Well if he finds me, I'll be fine!' I maintained mulishly. 'And, I'll just, um - punch him back – ' OOPS! 'Uh! I mean –'

NO, NO, NO!!! ME AND MY FAT MOUTH.

Paul's eyes went very cold, all of a sudden. Like, if they were ice before, now they were miles below subzero . . . I could feel the front of his gaze lingering across my skin, and making me shiver even more than I was.

These secrets were not meant to be known . . .

'You were right the first time. He hurts you, right?' Paul glared.

He was GLARING. At ME.

. . . Not even the TINIEST bit sympathetic . . . God . . . I'm toast.

I blinked down. I could answer because my vocal chords decided to suddenly malfunction.

'Thought so,' Paul concluded.

My eyes were still closed. ' . . . You think I'm such a loser now,' I laughed humourlessly. 'What? "Wow, look at Suze Simon, the girl that no one dared to piss off, who could bust your chops in two seconds flat. She's scared shitless. Now I've seen everything." Right? Yeah, you were wrong when you met me, saying I haven't changed. I have. I've gotten worse. I'm like every other girl, now. I can't frigging defend even myself!'

Paul went to say something, but I was on a roll. 'Stupid GHOSTS can knock me over in a heartbeat, and this guy – he shouldn't, but he scares me. Back when I was seventeen, or whatever, I was fine. I would have been able to kick his ass, but . . . I don't know why, I can't anymore. It's the PITS. But I do NOT need help. This is MY mess. I let it happen. It's my fault, and I'm going to deal with it! So can we GO now?! Are you HAPPY?!'

I was crying.

'I'm a headcase! I've SCREWED UP! Okay?! You've WON!'

There. I had declared forfeit. I had lost. And I felt worse than ever . . .

I stared back at Paul, horribly disgusted with myself. I was nothing . . . dog shit, bacteria, fungus, sin, waste, empty . . .

I mean . . . it's what Paul wanted, right? To reduce me to this? Of COURSE it was.

So what he said next floored me.

'This isn't about who's winning anymore, Suze. But . . . I just hate to say it . . . I told you so. I guess it's my fault too. But I'm here in the present. And that's all that matters, okay? We can fix this, all right?' he gave me an earnest look. His hands were closed around my bare arms comfortingly.

I was NOT going to be tricked. It was another game . . . he didn't want it to be over. I obviously hadn't punished myself SUFFICIENTLY for him . . . he wanted me to sink even LOWER.

'No, it's not all right,' I told him flatly. 'I don't need you to fight my battles for me. That's final.'

I was so very deeply ashamed with myself . . .

I felt Paul slide his hands off my arms, and step back. I looked up again, only to find that this very small ocular action caused the gathered liquid to spill from my eyelids, and down my cheeks, indicating that I was ACTUALLY crying.

Paul looked at his watch. WHAT? Someone ELSE to go and make cry? You have a SCHEDULE for this?!

'Jack's probably wondering where we are. But Suze?'

I sniffed, and gave him a humiliated glance.

'This isn't over.'

He stepped back, and just walked promptly out of the alley, towards a confused Jack . . . with a lot of candy, no less. God . . . Paul had bribed his brother to leave him alone with my phone. Thus Jack now has more candy than he could ever eat.

It was scary . . . I thought that Jack would be the little angel that I'd met at the Pebble Beach Resort. But I forgot that kids grow up. Sure, Jack was still gorgeous. But he wasn't the same.

Then again . . . what was?

For a moment, I hung around in the alley, and changed the name on Cole's number to "Aimee Smith." Just for security reasons, in case . . . yeah. Then I deleted all of Cole's messages. Even though the damage was done . . .

Slowly, I too emerged from the alleyway, with eyes puffier than what they would be from an allergic reaction, I'll bet. I felt so, so, so bad. Worse than I had in a while. I didn't WANT Paul involved. God, why couldn't he just MIND HIS OWN?!

I finally reached them. Paul was still glaring at me, like this was MY fault. Oh yeah, I totally sponsored Cole's abusive behaviour, REALLY. Jack was totally scoffing down this brightly coloured python, from the Candy Shop.

'Hey, don't choke on your snake,' I advised.

Jack stopped in mid-bite, and gave me a very weird look. 'Eww . . .'

I went red, momentarily, but then rolled my eyes and scruffed his hair. 'Sick minded little twat,' I commented, in half my usual voice. I just wanted to leave . . . get back to Fortunaschwein, and distance myself as far away from Paul as possible. I didn't want to look at him. Not after what he knew . . . 'We're leaving, right? I mean, you two can totally stay, I can get a cab to take me back to – yeah, that's good. I'll see you later, Jack –'

'I'll go get the car,' Paul butted in. 'Wait here.'

'No, I can get a ride home,' I claimed, 'I'll be fine – '

I don't think he believed me whenever I said that word anymore. Fine, I mean.

So, with a sharp look, he turned, and headed in the direction of the car, which was still in the parking lot of Pete's Pizza.

Jack looked up at me with big blue eyes. 'What did Paul talk to you about? He told me not to interrupt before, for when you came back. Was it about the air hockey thing?' he asked.

I paused. ' . . . No, it wasn't about the air hockey thing.'

I crossed my arms. It was as if my mind had been violated. I felt like Paul had stolen a secret away from me that I was meant to die with.

. . . Or die for . . .

Ugh.

'Well, was it about the – ' Jack began, but I got TOTALLY FRUSTRATED.

'Nothing! What is it with you Slaters?! God, when I don't wanna talk about something, why can't you just go "oh, okay," and shut up like the rest of us homo sapiens?!' I seethed, ripping the little bit of the candy python that was hanging leisurely out of his mouth, and threw it on the floor.

Wow . . . that was stupid . . .

Jack looked crushed. 'I'm . . . I'm sorry, I'm - I'm, er, I was just –'

I groaned, holding my head. 'Look . . . Jack, it's me who's sorry. I'm just . . . tired.'

'Just checking . . . it's not about that cockroach thing, is it?' Jack asked boredly.

I gave him a peeved look, but then I finally cracked a smile. He grinned broadly after seeing it. Then, not being able to resist the urge, I pulled him into a huge hug, whether he liked it or not. He didn't seem to mind so much, though. I mean, it wasn't as if I was like, his grandma pinching him on the cheek. Nah, I was more like Sarah Michelle Gellar publicly showing affection, or something. Not that my acting skills are anywhere up there with MG's. But you know what I mean . . . I wasn't a HUGE embarrassment.

Well . . . I certainly hoped not.

'Suze . . . why are you crying? You're not supposed to be upset,' Jack whispered in my ear. 'You're Suze. Stop acting like a normal girl. Only girls cry. You're Suze.'

I frowned at that. What did he mean? Was being Suze such a good thing? Having a reputation of not crying for so long? Was I . . . unfeminine, or something? He didn't even see me as a girl. Oh, no. I was the one who taught Jack to swim. Not a girl.

Hey, hey, I am NOT saying that I am a hermaphrodite, okay?!

Interrupting my thoughts, as usual, was Paul's car horn. Jack jumped, and then shoved my Kate Spade into hands before running towards the back seat of the car.

Paul gave Jack a corny look. 'Did I miss a cheesy bonding moment?'

Faggot . . .

Jack grinned. 'It wasn't cheesy. We've had enough cheese for today, Paul. I just hope the toilet doesn't have to suffer, by the time you get to it.' And with that, he started humming a Weird Al Yankovich song. A Complicated Song, in particular. 'Why'd ya have to go make me so constipated –'

'Hey, Jack,' I cut his solo short. 'Wanna ride in front?'

'Sure,' he beamed, and hopped in the front. Paul gave me a very hard look, as if he wanted to protest or something, so he could grill me for more information and make me feel even lower. But he didn't thank God. Maybe he WAS human?

'It's probably for the better. This way, Suze can't object to my driving,' Paul quipped.

I gave him a fake smile, before sliding behind Jack's seat. I leant my head against the window, feeling mighty exhausted, for some weird reason.

Crying can do that to you, I hear.

At least I'd stopped now. But my eyes still stung, like wind was rushing at them or something. I felt so tired. Drained, emotionally and physically.

I brushed my hair back gently, wishing that I had someone that loved me to do that for me. Brush my hair, I mean. And just . . . hold me . . .

That's all I ever wanted.

To be held by someone who loved me.

Well, since when does Suze Simon ever get what she wants?

No, I'm not ungrateful for the Lord's blessings. Only . . . well, I kind of think that my blessings are outweighed by my curses. Honestly, you weigh them up and you will TOTALLY agree.

I tried to look bored, and not upset. But I didn't think that I was doing a very good job, judging by the look that Paul sent back at me. One which I hastily blocked with my hair, by shuffling my head around a bit so he wasn't in my vision anymore.

The sound of the roof going up burred in my ears.

'Aww!'

'Sorry, kid, looks like it might rain.'

'Er! The clouds are way over there!'

'Well, it might.'

It is. It's always raining.

Welcome to my world, Jack . . .

- 8 -

Well . . . whoa . . . that was all one scene. It was kind of a bit much, probably. But OOOH, PAUL KNOWS ABOUT COLE. OOOH, OOOH – aww, come on people, humour us?

"Oooh!"

Thank you.

So yeah. REVIEW. LONG REVIEWS! NOW! PRESS THAT PURPLE BUTTON! SHAKE THOSE TALE FEATHERS! OOOH, YEAH –

Shutting up.

Chapter 12 will be up soon, and in it . . . Suze ALMOST DIES.

Yeah . . . cool.

Love!

Lolly and Hayley.

Btw – Hayles, sorry for updating without any editing, I just couldn't WAIT.


	12. Bullshit

When Paul, Jack and I got back to the school, I totally shot out of that car in a huff. I was furious at Paul, and I believe that I had every right to be. I mean . . . he had TOTALLY interrogated me before. In an ALLEYWAY. That was like, SO rude. But you know what? I seriously think that he'd enjoyed it. You know, in some sadomasochistic way, because we all know that Paul is kind of lacking in the compassion department.

Yeah.

The way he'd made me feel, though . . . that had been the worst part of it. I mean, before I totally regarded myself as useless and pathetic. Now, I actually KNEW it. I mean, the way he'd been looking at me. Like, ". . . oh my God . . . When I dialed 1800-LOSERS-R-US I didn't expect to get someone THIS pathetic." Yeah. The worst. I was literally, scum. The pretty girl, with the pretty hair, with the pretty shitty life.

Paul had just confirmed it.

So yeah, I powered away from him. Seriously, the car ride home had been freakishly silent. Jack obviously suspected that Paul and I were not in a chatty mood, because he wasn't trying to gang up on me with his brother anymore. Thank God. Because, honestly, that would have been the last straw.

I can only stay sane for SO LONG, you know?

However, as I walked into the dining room, where everyone seemed to be hanging out – why, I don't know, I mean, there was more space than we could ever need, and EVERYTHING echoed in there, so if you were trying to tell someone a secret, chances are your whisper would bounce off the walls and inform everyone present that YES, YOU DID STILL WEAR NAPPIES or something – I met a very strange sight.

Jesse.

And Adam.

Playing poker.

I am not even kidding.

I blinked for a second, but no.

Jesse and Adam were seated at the end of the farthest table, each holding five cards each, and concentrating rather hard. The deck was piled next to Jesse's glowing arm, and there was a notepad and a pen lying next to Adam.

But . . . Jesse. And Adam. PLAYING POKER?

WAS THIS SOME CASINO, OR SOMETHING?! HAD FATHER DOM NOT BEEN PUT IN HOSPITAL JUST LAST NIGHT?! WHAT DID THEY THINK THEY WERE DOING, SEEING WHO COULD GET THE FIRST ROYAL FLUSH?!?!?!

As I stared in indignation, that a) I had not yet been noticed yet, and b) that they weren't working on finding the ghost(s) that haunted this place, something dawned on me.

Jesse's dead.

. . . Well, okay, I already KNEW that. But . . . Jesse was a ghost. Adam was alive. So . . . how could Adam and Jesse be communicating?

YEAH. AND GETTING PAIRS OF ACES.

'Show,' Adam said, and Jesse's hand obediently fell flat on the table. Adam frowned in polite disappointment. He'd had a pair of kings. Jesse had three of a kind, in eights, and two fives. Full house.

Just like this school. Waaaay too full. I totally wish we could evict Dani . . .

But still. COMMUNICATION WITH THE DEAD? That was MY turf! Well . . . and Paul's . . . and Jack's . . . and Dani's . . . and yeah, Father Dom's. So OKAY, I wasn't so SPECIAL. But STILL.

I decided to break up the guy's night, before they both popped out the cigars are requested Vodka-Martini-Shaken-Not-Stirred. Not that Jesse could smoke . . . or drink.

Side-effect of being kind of lifeless.

That and cadaver breath.

'Um, excuse me?' I demanded, putting my hands on my hips, 'What the hell are you doing?'

They didn't react much. I mean, there was no hasty packing up of the playing cards, they just both looked up at me in surprised, as if to say, "Oh . . . stork just dropped a baby from the sky . . .so, moving on?"

'We're playing cards, Susannah,' Jesse informed me.

'Wow, I would never have guessed that,' I said sarcastically.

'What did he say?' Adam wanted to know in irritation.

It was then when Paul and Jack walked in, grinning. But Paul took one look at Jesse, and a look of suppressed murder crossed his features, and he coughed, and walked out again, dragging little Jackie with him.

Um . . . okay . . . I thought I had issues.

I shook my head in confusion. 'H – how have the two of you been talking?' I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Paul's interruption was forgotten.

Adam gave me a funny grin. He really was really good-looking now, in a totally goofy kind of way. I mean, his brunette hair was so nice and his teeth were great after ages of braces, and his smile was so sincere. He was a really decent guy. I could see why CeeCee was ditzy with happiness. I momentarily wondered where she was. Then I remembered earlier that she totally planned a whole day of researching.

'That was totally me. Yes, I am the resident genius. Easily, m'dear. We have been communicating through . . . the written word.'

When I still didn't get it, Jesse coughed, and handed me the notepad.

Oh. That.

'So,' I said to Adam, ignoring Jesse, 'You can't even see this weird guy that you happen to be playing poker with, and yet you're having a jolly old time?'

'Yes,' they both replied.

I noticed that Jesse's hair wasn't looking that shabby, either. In the warm light from the kitchen, and the sunlight that was flooding the room with golden rays, his hair seemed to gleam even more than the sleekness that his spectral glow provided him with. His crisp, jet-black hair curled at the nape of his neck, and his forehead was mildly wrinkled in concentration. However, he did turn to look at me, and his black eyes softened slightly. There seemed to be so many mysteries in his eyes . . . it totally wasn't fair. That I got stuck in a house with two totally unfathomable guys, I mean. One a successful intern who liked to flaunt his good luck in my face, and one a dead cowboy who was conveniently overlooking what his parting words to me had been.

". . . and do not expect me to be fooled by you again."

Just because HE'D obviously forgotten this little statement, I was NOT going to allow myself to disregard it.

He knew how wrong he'd been, and THAT'S why he wasn't mentioning it. Which was totally wussy of him. But you know, being a man and all, he didn't like to admit it when he was wrong.

Because he HAD been. Wrong, I mean. God, take one look at me, and he'd know pretty quickly that I hadn't been in love with Paul Slater. Um, ew? No, but Jesse was being a stupid jerk, and he just ASSUMED.

That was one of the biggest mistakes he ever made. As far as I was concerned, it came right after him agreeing to marry his COUSIN.

Again, um, ew?

'Would you like to join us, Susannah?' Jesse offered, being polite. I don't think he really meant it. And I certainly didn't think that I was going to say yes. Not after THAT train of thought.

But for some wacky reason, I just did. 'Uh . . . whatever.'

I suppose it was because I was trying to strike up this sense of competition with Jesse too. Why, I had no idea. I had nothing to prove to him. Everything he needed to know was right here, in front of him. How miserable his assumption had made me, what I'd let myself become because of his refusal to come with me . . .

And yet, I said I'd play.

Not just for a few smiles, either.

To win.

. . . Something. Oh, anything.

Adam looked annoyed. 'What did he say?' he shot at me. 'When you're here, he just talks to you and you talk back at him without me knowing what was said in the first place. It's really –'

'What would you like to play, Susannah?' Jesse continued. Nervously, I sat down beside Adam, and shrugged.

Then . . . a mean idea came to my mind.

So what if Jesse thought he put the GENTLE in GENTLEMAN. My game was going to introduce him to the lovely lingo of the twenty-first century.

'Bullshit,' I smiled.

Jesse's eyes, oh so predictably, widened in affront. Ha . . . oooh, I love my job.

'What? I was being serious – ' Adam began.

'Do not say such words, Father Dominic would disapprove – ' Jesse also started, but I cut him off irritably. 'Father Dom is in hospital with a head wound, Jesse. He isn't here. And for your information, I wasn't randomly spouting off curses, like you do in Spanish,' I added, and noticed with relish the small blush of his cheeks – which indicated that what he was saying was VERY bad – 'I was notifying you of the game in which I would like you to participate in. Bullshit.'

'Oh,' grinned Adam, and grabbed the cards to divide them.

Jesse was the one that now looked bewildered. 'Bull . . . '

'Go on,' I goaded, 'Say it. Do something . . . rebellious, Jesse. Say something bad. God knows, you've said some bad things in your time,' I drawled dryly. 'In writing, to be specific.'

Now I knew he was blushing. But this time, I had a feeling it wasn't in embarrassment, so much as shame.

Ashamed, he SHOULD be.

. . . That letter hadn't been bad. That has been The Worst.

By then, Adam had segregated the cards in three stacks. He passed one to me, and one to where he presumed Jesse was. He wasn't hearing, or understanding what was going on with Jesse and me. But silent messages as loud as cannon fires were flying between Jesse and I.

Part of me still hated him for what he did . . .

But I wasn't going to show it.

Jesse knit his eyebrows in confusion as he gazed down at his cards that he'd spread out before him in his hand. I noticed that Adam was still staring in wonder at the floating pieces of cardboard, wondering if still was all some kind of trick of the eye. Which was pretty cute. I mean, meeting a ghost like Jesse is always an experience, once you've got over the shock that we, in fact, have people among us who See Dead People.

SUCH a privilege, I'm sure.

'How do you play this game?' Jesse inquired of Adam, but forgot that Adam was oblivious to his questions.

I paused, before answering. 'Bullshit,' I said articulately, enjoying how he seemed to wince at my blasphemy, 'is a kick-ass game. You have to totally bluff everything. Say, I put down three cards, and said they were three sevens. You have to tell me whether I'm lying or not. Like, if you have two sevens in your hand, it's pretty obvious that I'm telling a big porkie.'

Jesse nodded faintly. 'Oh . . . I see.'

'And,' Adam contributed, not knowing whether this was enough information for Jesse or not, because again, he could see/hear/touch/smell him, 'If Suze was lying, and she got caught, then she has to keep all the cards in the pile. If no one says Bullshit, then the pile keeps growing as everyone gets their go,' he explained.

Jesse nodded in understanding and the game began, starting with Adam, who threw down a card and called it an ace. I only had one ace so I could only assume that Jesse must have had the others, so I didn't call Adam on it. Jesse shrugged and the game continued.

Jesse seemed to be catching on quite nicely. He hadn't once called anyone on a lie yet, but he seemed to grasp the concept of the game as it was played.

'Five eights,' Adam said as he plopped down five cards on the pile.

Wait a minute . . . that just isn't possible . . .

And I wasn't the only one that noticed. Jesse whipped his head unsurely at me, looking a bit confused at what to do. Of course, since I was a seasoned pro at Bullshit, having three stepbrothers and all, I knew exactly what to do . . .

'Bullshit,' I called, smiling victoriously at Jesse, who had totally missed an obvious chance. Beat that, cadaver breath! Jesse, however, hadn't seemed very phased at the chance he missed. He was still glancing at Adam in confusion, and he even touched the notepad in case he needed to ask questions.

But no questions needed to be asked here. Because I had just caught Adam in a lie. And now I would be ahead in the game.

'Adam, you are aware that there are only four of each card?' I asked him as I shoved the pile towards him. He grinned at me in a way I could only describe as mischievous and replied, 'I was just keeping you on your toes. And besides, there really are five eights. Check for yourself if you want . . . '

Jesse, his eyebrows knit in wonder, pulled the five cards from the top and I examined them from over his shoulder, careful to keep my space. There were, in fact, five eights. One heart, one spade, one club . . . and two diamonds.

'How can this be, Susannah?' Jesse inquired, scratching his head. I didn't answer him. Instead, I shot a glance at Adam, shaking my head.

'You little cheat!' I said, poking my finger at him playfully. 'You put in an extra card!'

Adam's smile turned crooked as he replied in great humor, 'Anything goes in this game. I mean, it practically gives you permission to lie, so I figured that maybe I could get away with some cheating as well. No one ever said this was a clean game.'

Jesse and I chuckled heartily at Adam's little prank. It was funny how someone that flunked Algebra freshman AND junior year in high school could be so clever.

Watch out. He might give Mr. Paul-don't-annoy-me-or-I-will-sue-you Slater a run for his money.

'I believe this,' Adam smirked as he shoved the pile of cards towards me, 'belongs to you, Miss Simon.'

And then, all of a sudden, I didn't think it was so funny anymore.

I had been all too eager to call Adam on his mistake before Jesse could. I had never even considered that Adam, the jokester of the century, would try anything. But that he did. He certainly pulled one over on me.

One that obviously made Jesse burst into peals of laughter. I mean, he could barely announce that the two cards he placed were nines.

Though, considering Jesse's inability to bend moral rules of any kind, I was pretty sure he wasn't lying. I mean, his manner reflected honesty as if it were some sort of mirror or something. I just could never imagine him lying, even if it were for the purposes of a game.

Adam, however, not having the pleasure of knowing Jesse, totally caught on. That's because Adam already had three nines. Jesse turned a bit red as he too back his two "nines" and I even think he muttered a hasty apology.

Seriously. He had to apologize just because he lied while playing "Bullshit". If only he'd apologize for other MORE IMPORTANT THINGS.

It was my turn next. You'd think that with all of the cards I had, that I would have at least one ten. Unfortunately, the only lying that had been done in this game did not involve any tens, so I was stuck in a jam. I had to lie.

The thing is, my strategy was to tell the truth in a totally unconvincing way so that Jesse- and Adam too, I guess- would call me on it and then I'd prove them wrong, forcing them to take the whole pile.

The only problem is that, well, I couldn't exactly say I had tens I didn't have. I scanned my deck desperately for something, anything I could do to save myself. My eyes landed on the group of five eights that I had gotten earlier from Adam. Perfect.

All I had to do was stick down one of those eights and call it a ten. I mean, the probability of Adam or Jesse having all of the tens were pretty slim. So, with a small smile to myself, I slid the "ten" on the table.

At that moment Jesse shot up from his chair and yelled, 'BULLSHIT!' pointing at me with a shaking yet accusatory finger. His cards were sprawled over the table from when he'd dropped his deck in his anxious rush.

I jumped, in utter shock.

'What happened?' Adam asked, confused beyond control. Jesse grabbed the notepad and scribbled in excited black cursive: "BULLSHIT!!!"

Adam smiled down at the notepad and said, 'It looks like you've been caught in the act. Fess up, Simon.'

Jesse produced four tens and waved them in front of my face.

'Fine,' I snapped as I flipped over the card, 'You were right Jesse.'

Jesse threw his arms in the air and did this really strange victory dance, which I'm sure Adam would crack up at if he could have only seen it. He waved his hands about wildly as he shook his butt, all with this goofy grin plastered on his face. Only, I didn't see it as that funny. I'd pretty much lost again.

'You do realize, Jesse, that there is no need for this little victory dance,' I informed him as I took my card back. 'I mean, its only one card. Geez.'

Yeah . . . one card that pretty much ensured my failure.

So, yeah, I did end up losing, while Adam ended up stealing the show. I felt pretty down with myself for losing. I mean, I ALWAYS lost. I was, let's face it, a complete and total LOSER. Paul could attest to that. And so could Adam and Jesse now.

But at least I got to hear Jesse say "Bullshit" intentionally. And I got to witness his, um, little victory dance . . .

And to think, Jesse probably played card games all of the time in those saloons back in the day with all of those crazy outlaws with ten-gallon hats and guns and stuff. I certainly hoped he never showed that type of embarrassing display in front of all those tough cowboys.

If he did, well . . . poor Jesse.

- 8 -

Well, let me take a moment to say, that when, at midnight, in a dusty room in a mysteriously haunted school, you can't sleep, DON'T GO ON A WALKABOUT. Trust me, I'd KNOW. If I had have just stayed there, like a good little girl, I would have been totally fine.

But trust me to be worried about how unfit I was getting.

Seriously. I couldn't sleep. Not a wink. I was tossing and turning in my bedroom on the fourth floor of Fortunaschwein, so, stupidly, I decided, Oh, hey, how about I choose now, in the late hours of the night, to get exercise?

I suck.

But yeah. So that's how I ended up walking around outside the school in a long leather jacket, with my bikini on, and a purple towel over my arm. CeeCee had told me about this infamous lake behind Fortunaschwein, where all the boys probably used to swim during their PE classes and stuff, and had to canoe over to get to the St. Josephine's All Girls School that was a couple of miles away. CeeCee said that she found a letter in her room from one of the girls that went to St. Jo's and apparently, she and a Fortunie were having lusty sex every fortnight.

. . . Ew.

When will they LEARN, not to put a BOY'S boarding school and a GIRL'S boarding school nearby? Like, duh, of COURSE the boys are going to start getting deprived of their natural desires that seventeen-year-old boys want. Of course they're going to sneak out to meet each other.

I thought it was really immature, but that's just me.

But anyway, so I was heading for the lake. CeeCee told me it was huge, and really deep, according to records that she found. CeeCee's good that way. You know, record-finding and all. And as I was walking over all of the dead grass, I was just thinking about how we needed to do a lot more of that.

You know, record finding.

Because, so far, we hadn't done much to like, investigate the history of the school, and all. You know? All we knew – well, had guessed – was that there was more than one ghost. Which isn't all that much. I mean, we haven't exactly got this stupid SIA thing down pat, right? We had no methods yet. All we were doing was winging it, and getting free accommodation while we were at it.

And Father Dom REFUSED to tell me how much we were charging Dicky-Doo. Which sucked. Because, if I made less than Starbucks, then I would personally take it upon myself to KILL THE PRIEST!!!!!!

. . . Okay, so maybe not. But . . . just . . . glare at him a lot.

Ugh.

However, when I finally founded the corner of the school with it's dead weeds creeping up the aged dark bricks and stuff, I saw that across a little way, there was one of the BIGGEST LAKES EVER.

Well, okay. So it was only about two hundred meters. Not HUGE. But still.

The moon was reflecting silver on the water, reminding me of something that might have been artistically portrayed in a painting. Nature, it had to be admitted, was the epitome of art and beauty. Unlike me . . . unlike my sorry excuse for a life . . .

Hugging my coat tighter for warmth, I stood right by the water's edge and dipped one toe in to test the temperature. It seemed quite suitable for swimming, despite the fact that it was just a tiny bit cold, so I slid off my leather coat and let the wind blow across me as if it were renewing me.

A few feet away, I saw a small rocky cliff, which looked perfect to dive from. I mean, I was no fool. There was no way I was just going to ease my way in the water because there might be a chance that I just wouldn't get in it at all from the cold. The only way was to jump.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, drew in a deep breath, and dived into what looked like some very deep water.

Whoa . . . okay, cold. Ice, ice, FREEZING COLD. Only, the iciness of the lake seemed to add to its refreshing quality. I had enjoyed the rude shock of the chilling water. If only all surprises were so welcome . . .

I began to swim a lap across the lake to the other side. As I may have said earlier, this was no small lake, ladies and gents. I think it took a whole five minutes to get to the other side! The deepest and hardest part of the lake to swim in was the middle part, which I could assume was at least twenty feet or so.

After I swam for a good ten minutes, I stopped for a nice rest. I floated on my back for a few moments, my body drifting with the water. I can't tell you how great it felt to just relax my mind and let the numbing cold drown my thoughts.

That's when I felt it. A small wave beside me was forming, getting bigger and bigger. It didn't take me long to figure out that I was not alone. Receiving the greatest shock of my life, I thrashed madly in the water for a second, and looked around desperately for any other signs of movement.

OH MY GOD! HE'D FOUND ME!! COLE KENNEDY WAS HERE!!!

AAAAAAAAH!!!

My eyes fell on a pair of feet that were on the edge of the same cliff which I had jumped from. I lifted my eyes slowly, for the cliff was not all that tall, and saw . . .

'Paul! What the HELL?'

I can't believe it. What was HE doing out there? I mean, sitting on the cliff and just deciding to creep me out.

'How's the water?' Paul inquired as he chucked a rock that he had in his hand into the water below.

That anus. He'd been throwing rocks into the water! What if one of them hit me on the head or something? They'd have to cut all my hair off and then I'd have to get my head stapled or something. Eww.

I relaxed my kicking a bit, so only my head peaked from the dark waters. I mean, I may have looked good, but you know how most women are about being seen in a bikini. It freaked me out even more to be seen in a bikini while PAUL was around.

I mean, he'd laugh and compare me to Dani. Oh, nothing, just his own, personal SUPERMODEL.

Or God forbid, start talking about her in a fashion show.

My dinner was nice. I really didn't want to taste it again, if you know what I mean.

'What the hell are you doing here?' I asked, staring at him wildly. What? He'd given me quite a scare there. I thought he might have been, oh, I dunno, my stalker ex-boyfriend or the revenge of Biker Bob's ghostly gang out to get me or something. You never know what mysteries the night holds.

'I come here every night to do laps,' Paul informed me as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. Oh yeah . . . I forgot that Paul has to maintain his figure. Girlish one at that, bah.

I swam to the shore and reached a place where I could finally stand in the water. As a small wind hit my skin, Goosebumps began to form on my flesh.

It was the water. It HAD to be the water.

It was numbingly cold, so I sought my towel angrily, looking in every direction for it except for Paul's. 'Where'd I put my towel, dammit?'

But it was no where in sight.

'Wait, where are you going?' Paul wanted to know, a hint of disappointment in his tone. Damn, Paul. I guess you're going to be devoid of your insultathon tonight. Pity, really. 'Why are you leaving so soon?'

'Because,' I explained, bringing my hands furiously to my hips, 'you're here.' Just then, I realized . . . that I was only in my bikini. I looked down self-consciously, trying to avoid Paul with my eyes. 'I mean, you'd want privacy-'

I stopped for a moment, seeing that Paul was wearing board shorts. ONLY board shorts.

So much for privacy, eh? I mean, there was no way that I could tear my eyes away from that killer six-pack that Paul had going for him. That crack I made earlier about his girlish figure? Um, well, that was actually a little bit, kind of, totally and utterly false. Because Paul's perfectly shaped body was the picture of masculinity.

I HATE HIM. UGH. SEE, HE WAS EVEN WINNING IN . . . THAT DEPARTMENT.

I coughed wildly and wrenched my eyes away. It's for your own good, Suze. I mean, seriously, as much as I like the healthy gawk at a hot guy, gawking at Paul was just wrong, and something I did not want to do. For pride's sake, if not anything else.

So I dragged my eyes quickly from his abs, raking them rapidly up his chest, along his chin, and fixed them determinedly – and nervously – on his eyes.

Unfortunately, he was not looking at mine. Eyes, I mean.

'Is it cold?' Paul wanted, an animalistic gleam flashing in his eyes. 'Or are you just happy to see me?'

I noticed the direction of his gaze with utter revulsion. And it wasn't at my face. Just a little lower.

'You pervert!' I yelled at him as I shoved him with all my might into the water. He wasn't expecting that, so it was no surprise that a stream of some very colorful words came flowing from his mouth.

'I guess you don't need to answer that question,' Paul said as he winced from the numbing cold.

Wimp.

Dammit, I still couldn't find my towel. I crossed my arms over my chest, in case Paul felt the urge to look anymore, and I continued to scan the area for it. I saw something blue coming from the middle of the lake.

It was, surprise-surprise, my towel.

'What?' Paul asked, innocently. 'Missing something? Your towel, perhaps?'

I glared at him furiously. 'Not anymore. But I know what you're missing. A brain.'

Wow. That sure put him in his place, Suze.

And with that, I took his towel and dropped it into the water casually and stomped off.

Paul tried to stop me by saying, 'Suze, come on. You can stay. I promise, no more funny business.'

Which, his method was effective. I did stop, but only to remind him that I had heard that somewhere before and that not once did he ever uphold that promise.

Paul pouted, and I decided to just get back in the water. But only because I needed to retrieve my towel. I swam past him, trying to ignore him with the best of my ability.

'So,' Paul said conversationally, 'why are you here?'

I threw him a stony look and replied, 'Why do you think?'

'Is there something on your mind?'

I knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time before Paul would confront me about the whole thing that happened earlier. I mean, he had even said our discussion wasn't over.

As much as I had hoped otherwise, Paul didn't forget about it. I swear he's like an elephant or something . . . you know, an elephant never forgets? Yeah, well neither does a Paul Slater.

But I was kind of shocked that he had just flat out asked me. I mean, I had expected him to reply with something like "I dunno, Suze, you probably came out to drown yourself because you are such a loser". Which, I may or may not have been trying to do.

All hope of ever getting Paul to just leave me alone and butt out was lost, so I plunged under the water for a small retreat. It was cold, dark, and imprisoning under there. Quite like my mind was at that moment.

Once I resurfaced, I popped up to meet a very angry Paul treading water right in front of me. I met his angry glare with one of my own. I don't know where this guy gets off.

'Go away,' I told him harshly. 'I don't want to talk to you, or anyone for that matter. I'm angry at the world, so you best stay away.'

'You should really be angry at Cole, whoever he is,' Paul grumbled.

I sighed. This was going to be a long night. 'I AM angry with him,' I explained to Paul. Sometimes he can be so thick. His mind must be clouded by his sick fantasies about his bulimic girlfriend to the point where he doesn't make a lick of sense.

'You're not angry, Suze. You're scared.'

See? See what I mean? What sense does THAT make?

I looked away, looking down into the depths of the dark water. A trail of water streamed down my face. Or, at least I think it was water.

Paul waded closer, eclipsing the moon, the only source of light in the darkness. 'You're pretending, Suze. Pretending everything is fine when it isn't. You don't want to confront your problems because you are scared. Scared of showing weakness. And that, is your ultimate weakness, Suze.'

'I'm not scared, Paul,' I told him, irritated at his implication. 'I'm just annoyed and exhausted from everything, is all.'

'And maybe, Suze, if you clap your hands, Tinkerbell won't die,' Paul remarked, clapping his hands in sarcastic enthusiasm. Droplets of water flew a little bit.

I glared down into the dark water. It was so dark it almost seemed black and endless. Paul and I as we argued, were swimming out, and we ended up, I noticed, in the middle of the lake. The deepest part. The part you'd hate to be in if your legs suddenly cramped up.

'You know why they call it Neverland?' Paul asked suddenly.

I humored him. So sue me. 'Why?' I sighed, just wishing that I could crawl back into bed and finally be away from Paul Slater. Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

Why couldn't they all leave me alone? Stop haunting me?

Why?!

'It's not real,' Paul explained, his piercing blue eyes as dark looking as the water surrounding us. 'It doesn't exist. It only serves as an escape from reality. And the kids that live there? They never grow up . . . they stay naïve forever.'

'Do I look like a lost boy to you?' I demanded grumpily, but he ignored me completely. Well sorry for trying to crack a JOKE.

Jesus . . .

'You spend most of your time hiding, and now you've lost yourself,' he told me as he combed the water with his fingers. I felt a chill, but I tried to ignore it. It was probably all the cold water, you know.

'Correction: I have found myself. Swimming away from YOU.'

With that said, I tried to splash away, but Paul's hand shot out too quickly and he rested a strong hand on my shoulder.

'I don't know why the HELL you care so much. We're not friends, Paul,' I told him snottily.

Paul let go of my shoulder and replied, 'I never said we were. I have an obligation to be concerned as a witness.'

Oh, go the lawyer talk. I outta sue him for using big words.

'I'd like to witness you leaving. Now,' I commanded.

'Why?' Paul asked, his voice now taking on a sort of whiny quality that I had never heard of Paul before. To think, his power of persuasion had got him nowhere and he actually had to take to whining to get what he wanted.

The question was what DID he want? What was his personal gain from trying to help me out?

'Because I'm tired.'

'I'm tired too. Tired of you're pretending. Welcome to the real world where you're currently residing in a place that's haunted by malevolent inhuman spirits, where you're stuck with two guys you hate, and you have your stalker boyfriend after you-'

'He's NOT my boyfriend!' I protested.

'He doesn't seem to see that,' Paul observed, 'so we have to make him realize that.'

There he goes, using that dreaded pronoun.

"We".

"We" is categorized as a first person noun that addresses oneself and someone else all in one inclusive word. And I'm sorry, but I could barely manage to be in a sentence with Paul, much less a small two-letter word. It would get crowded, and fast.

'He has no idea where I'm at,' I informed Paul, dipping low into the water again so my head was just peeking out.

'He seems set on finding you, Suze. Someone that has taken it upon himself to send you twenty-eight text messages probably has the drive to actually go and find you.'

PAUL HAD COUNTED???

Yet, somehow, I wouldn't doubt it. About Cole's drive, I mean. No, not his SEX drive. Eww, as if I'd ever serviced that. Or anyone's as embarrassing as it is to admit . . . twenty-three years old, and all.

But I couldn't admit that to Paul or else he might have won again. The fact that he was right, NOT the fact that I was still . . . er, innocent.

Ew . . .

You just don't go around SAYING that to people . . . eww.

But Paul was already winning the strange contest we were secretly holding within. And I could NOT let him win.

'Have you ever considered, Paul,' I asked while looking at him sideways, 'that I might deserve this? You know, as some sort of cruel punishment for all those times I snuck out of the house and came home in a police car, or made my mum cry back in New York, or how many people I hurt, or all the ghosts that I didn't handle properly, or the times when I lied to Father Dom. I mean, he IS a priest and all, or my dad – '

I broke off abruptly. There was NO WAY that I was telling him about . . . that.

No, no, no, no one would EVER know about that.

What I'd done to dad.

I was glaring down at the water then, and Paul was silent for a moment, before speaking again.

'No one deserves this, Suze.'

I shot my glare to him. He had no earthly idea what I went through on a daily basis. Dani's never beat him to a pulp. He's never had to layer on foundation to cover bruises on his face. He's never been dumped with a dispassionate note from the love of his life. He didn't have to make hot chocolate everyday just to make ends meet. He's never cried for hours every night. He's never come to the conclusion that God really, truly does hate him.

'Maybe I do . . . ' I whispered.

'There is no "maybe", Suze,' Paul's voice raised slightly. It sounded firm, and stubborn. 'You don't deserve this at all. Not you or any other woman that suffers like you do.'

. . . He called me a woman. The lawyer in him talking, again, I'll bet.

'You don't understand, Paul,' I told him, tugging on his arm for emphasis. 'I got the double whammy of freakish things. A stalker ex and the shifter thing.' I looked heavenward and shook my fist in the air. 'I GET THE HINT!'

Paul stopped me from tugging on his arm and replied, 'You don't get the hint. The shifter thing is a gift.'

HA!

'Gift,' I said as I laughed bitterly. 'You sound just like Father Dom.'

'You have an amazing ability, Suze,' Paul told me as he rested his hand on my shoulder. I started to get the goosebumps again. And not just the corny R. L. Stine paperbacks. These were full-blown reactions from intense coldness, of both the climate, and the soul. 'You're just afraid to use it. You need to learn how to use it properly and what, exactly, you can do with it.'

'I don't want to learn,' I told Paul flatly. 'Especially not from you.'

And with that, I plunged into the water again for another retreat. Only . . . this time I was never quite able to come back up. You see, something clamped around my ankle, serving as an anchor to keep me from moving. I looked down in the dark depths of the water and saw a faint ghostly glow. I was reminded violently of the RLS Angels when I felt more hands grab my legs. I began thrashing about in wild panic, but with each moment I thrashed, the more I was sinking to the bottom of the lake floor. Yelling was useless, as that would only cause a few bubbles or something and waste air.

Which was another problem on its own. Air. Or, in this case, lack of it.

I tried desperately to struggle more in order to free myself, but more hands clamped around my legs and my arms, making it impossible for me to fight anymore. I couldn't see who or what it was. All I knew was that I was drowning. I felt as if my lungs would start to collapse. There is only so long one can go without breathing. And the long stream of bubbles indicated that I was no longer capable of that. Breathing, I mean.

The dark water surrounding me became enveloped in blackness.

- 8 -

God I was cold. Freezing cold. And it totally didn't help that I was soaking wet. At the time I couldn't remember why I was wet. I felt something dripping down on me . . . was it raining? It had to be raining.

I heard a voice, so far away . . . one that I could easily recognize if recognition hadn't fleeted my mind at that moment. Whoever's voice it was, it was swimming around my head, making me feel a little dizzy.

Then I felt something soft and warm on my mouth. It took me a while to process that those were, in fact, lips.

Wait a minute. Why do I have lips on my mouth? Whose were they? Why was I so dizzy?

And were those lips . . . kissing me?

My mind piled the evidence together- the wet, the cold, the dripping, the lips- and then instantly I remembered what was happening.

The Point. The rain. Paul.

I was still seventeen!

But that was impossible. I couldn't have taken a trip back in time. I mean, the LAST time I awoke from something and had the same suspicions, I had woken up disappointed because I realized that there was no way that I would ever wake up and be seventeen again . . .

. . . Right?

I mean, Paul's kiss wasn't THAT mind-blowing that it would render me unconscious right? And of so, why would my mind project five years of horrible pain and suffering while I was knocked out?

Unless it was trying to warn me about something . . .

Nah. Maybe I just fell asleep because I was so bored. And I was having nightmares because it was some sort of reflection of the turmoil that my physical body was going through at that moment, while my conscious decided to take a mini vacation.

. . . No one talks like that. Especially not a seventeen-year-old that has never studied Freud or Pavlov before.

A rush of air cleared my dizzying mind. I began to feel other things besides cold. Like the fact that there was something weighing down my chest. A painful tingling in toes that I could not feel properly. And not to mention the sudden urge to cough.

And that's when I suddenly began coughing up large amounts of water. I fluttered my eyes opened and realized that I was, in fact, normal twenty-three year old Suze.

Normality sucks.

Above me, I could see the fuzzy face of who I assumed to be Paul. I mean . . . well, no one else has eyes like that, so I guessed it was Paul. Then again, it might have been Jack, because, well, they're kind of brothers, right? Maybe Jack had eyes like that too? All icy and stuff?

Nah...Jack's VOICE was kind of high, though. The one that was droning in my unreceptive mind, was deep.

Everything was in a complete haze. Paul's head was above mine, and I still needed to cough.

So I did.

All over him.

You know, like in "10 Things I Hate About You" when drunken Julia Stile's character told Heath Ledger's character that his eyes had green in them and then she puked on him?

Well, it was like that, only I wasn't drunk. I wasn't really sure what I was.

It was kind of funny, when you looked back at it. But I didn't think it was so much, then.

Not that I could apologize. I was too busy coughing up this water that was, for some reason, in my lungs.

I turned to my side and emptied my load of H2O. I was SO confused. Why the hell did I have water in my throat?

Then I remembered . . . Paul, lake, middle of the night . . .

Well, when you say it like that it sounds wrong. Which it is wrong. Paul shouldn't have been there at all. He never really even explained the REAL reason why he was there in the first place, which was totally annoying. Just as annoying as the whole coughing thing.

And, you know, the whole not really knowing what was really going on thing.

I noticed, much to my embarrassment, that there was a great deal of water on him, and not just because he was in the lake too. Most of it had come straight from my mouth. I half expected Paul to slap a lawsuit on me with a lot of big words on it.

But for some reason, he didn't seemed to be making any phone calls or anything, or even informing me of my right to remain silent. Instead, he cradled my face in his hands and said, 'Suze. Thank God.'

'Thank God for what?' I asked, my words blurring just as my thoughts.

'You're alive,' Paul smiled softly. I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, why wouldn't I be alive?

I knit my eyebrows in confusion. I felt so weird . . . like I was falling, really, really fast . . .

'Uh . . . what do you mean?' I slurred. It was still really fuzzy . . . Paul kept on having two eyes . . . then four . . . then two again . . .

'You nearly drowned,' he explained.

' . . . Huh?'

I didn't get it. How could I have nearly drowned? I was a good swimmer. I TAUGHT PAUL'S BROTHER how to swim, damn it! PAUL SAW ME ALMOST DROWN?!

That was so EMBARRASSING!!

But . . . almost drown? No way . . . totally not happening . . . he was messing with me again . . .

Suddenly, a bubble of something like panic developed in my stomach started to take it's toll on my thoughts. I started freaking out. REALLY freaking.

'No, I - you said - Cole - I said no - And then you - ' I stood up immediately, jerking away from him, but I slipped on the mud that was under my feet. Everything was totally dark . . . except the moon. It was bright, and mysterious, and almost daunting now.

As I fell back on the ground, there must have been a rock there, because I felt a searing pain somewhere in my body. Where, I didn't know. I didn't have sensation in below my waist, yet, and my head was hurting so badly, I felt like I'd just shifted or something. Which I hadn't. Right . . . ?

I started breathing fast, still coughing. There was still water in my throat, and I could seem to get enough oxygen. Paul was starting to look sharper, as my focus was returning to me, but I didn't UNDERSTAND, and even though he was TALKING, I couldn't hear what he was SAYING!

'WHY DID I ALMOST DROWN?!' I yelled at him, feeling as though in a second, I was going to have an epileptic fit, or whatever. Something was really wrong . . . I couldn't just "stop swimming."

Paul moved over to me, and it was all that I could do not to jerk away from him again. I mean . . . what if HE tried to drown me?! I couldn't remember. But maybe HE was trying to KILL me. Because Paul is like, so bad, right? All mean, and lawyer-y and stuff . . . ALL lawyers are corrupt, RIGHT?!

I really wanted to blame him for SOMETHING.

But yeah, Paul's hands came to my shoulders, and he forced me to face him. I was glaring so hard, my face felt like it was going to split open. I didn't want him touching me . . . I wanted him to go away . . .

Though, if he let go, I felt that there was a good chance I would fall in the mud again, and I wouldn't be able to move . . .

Paul, however, looked down, and started touching somewhere else on my body. Don't get grossed out, it wasn't anywhere forbidden, you sick things. No, it was somewhere on my arm . . . why, I didn't know. I could barely feel it. I mean, I could vaguely feel his fingers on it, and something was hurting, but that was about it, right?

'Something pulled you down. Or should I say someone,' Paul growled at me.

WHAT DID THAT EVEN MEAN?!?!

'Stop talking weird...you're talking weird stuff, Paul, stop - ' I stopped, feeling so dizzy again . . . the dark trees near the dark lake looked as if they were growing taller . . . as if I was getting lost, deeper and deeper in the wood.

'No, someone held you under the water. I saw something flash. A ghost, Suze,' Paul's voice brought me back down to earth. I closed my eyes, hard, and then opened them again, concentrating hard on Paul. 'No - no way, I - you were talking about Cole, and I said - no - '

Suddenly, I looked down at where he was touching me. My hand. He was dabbing a towel on my hand.

WHICH WAS BLEEDING!!!

I squealed in horror, and started flipping around madly. 'WHY AM I BLEEDING?!' I screamed at him, wriggling away for all I was worth. I could not comprehend ANYTIHNG.

'You just gashed your hand, Suze, you slipped,' Paul told me, trying to get me to focus. 'You'll be all right. Everything will be all right.'

Um, no. Nothing would ever be all right. How could he say that? I mean, I was randomly coughing up water, I was bleeding, and I apparently had escaped death for, like, the second time this week.

And I STILL HAD NO IDEA WHY.

'I don't get it,' I frowned in confusion. 'What happened to me?'

'You went under the water, staying under for a while. I just thought you were being dramatic, so I didn't think anything of it. That is, until I noticed your air bubbles stopped,' Paul explained, scanning me for my reaction.

My air bubbles stopped. I had stopped breathing. But WHY?

I was still sitting in the mud. I always was, I guess. Among the dirtiest of souls, was mine. It was only fitting that I frolicked with what seemed so intent on sticking to me. So I sat on the mucky ground, even if it seemed like it was shaking right under me. I was glad that the mud wasn't soaking through my bikini.

WHICH I WAS STILL WEARING.

. . . Actually, when you think about it, that's kind of a good thing. I mean, I could have NOT been wearing anything at all, right?

Don't go there, please.

I half climbed to my knees, but stopped before I stood up. a) I still wasn't sure if my unresponsive body would hold me up, and b) because, I was still TOTALLY confused, damn it!

'Paul, I . . . I don't know what happened-'

'Neither do I,' Paul shushed me with one finger. 'Do you remember any of it at all? Do you remember anything holding you down?'

I closed my eyes, trying to remember something . . . anything . . .

'Glow,' I said definitely. 'There was a glow.'

Paul's face changed completely. 'Thought as much,' he said darkly. 'They tried to kill you.'

I felt like I was going to slip again. Seriously. My legs - I couldn't feel them. They were like jelly. I hadn't noticed how much Paul was supporting me until he went to move away and I felt my knees almost buckle beneath me. Quickly grabbed my arms again before I fell completely.

Dark images danced across my memory. Something else . . .

'Hands,' I went on, 'Lots . . . there were lots of hands. More than two . . . at least, I think . . .'

'Is that all you remember?' Paul asked, noticing how hard it was for me to think. I mean, it totally was because as I looked down at my hand, I noticed that blood- MY blood- was seeping through it. Which made me a little sick to my stomach. But I HAD to keep thinking.

'Um . . . '

Paul . . . going under water . . .

'I really don't . . . '

Relaxing . . . cold water . . . escaping . . .

'I think . . . '

Faint bluish glow . . . hands, lots of hands, gripping my leg . . . I couldn't breathe . . . blackness . . .

. . . laughing . . .

'They laughed at me.'

Paul nodded, looking angry for some reason. God, even post-near-death experience, he STILL had the nerve to be pissed off at me.

FRIGGING TYPICAL.

He looked down at my hand, and without my consent, even, he just totally used my blue towel that – well, obviously he'd rescued from the lake, and wrapped it around my hand. I watched the blood seeping through the fabric. I still couldn't barely feel my hand.

And the fact that Paul tied it almost so tightly that my circulation was pretty much cut off wasn't helping all that much. It was like a tourniquet. Now I knew why Paul hadn't become a doctor . . .

Tourniquet . . . I remembered . . . I used that exact same word to describe how Jesse's first-ever hanky-tying episode. You know . . . after we'd come out of that fight with Heather Chambers, all those years ago.

Funny, the things you remember. Especially stupid things like THAT.

'Er, thanks,' I said quickly, feeling a little embarrassed. I mean, you would be too if you had almost drowned and your sworn enemy witnessed the whole thing and then put his differences aside and saved you anyway.

Which is another reason to be confused. Why did Paul save me? One little act of omission, and I'd be at the bottom of the lake and out of his hair. Isn't that what he wanted?

Paul, who had picked up my jacket, placed it on my shoulders and ushered me in the direction of the school. He then stooped to pick up his towel, which was, like the one around my wrist – my own – wet. 'Look, Paul, you can go back to swimming or whatever. I'm good from here,' I told him.

'Tempting,' Paul said with a smirk, 'but I'd rather finish my laps alive.'

'Oh, yeah. That wouldn't be smart,' I said, now feeling progressively more mortified. I mean, I didn't mean to say things that sounded so stupid, but I couldn't help it. My mind was still completely frazzled from the whole almost dying thing. I mean, I don't think that telling him to go back into a haunted lake is the brightest thing to do.

I'm such a dumbass, right?

We rounded the corner, and Paul stopped for a moment. Puzzled, I stopped too. He didn't look angry anymore. Now he had this look that was similar to amusement. I could see it in his eyes, which reflected the moonlight like a mirror.

'You're really lucky,' Paul stated, laughing a bit.

Which is weird. Because the last thing that ever comes to mind when I think of my pathetic excuse for a life is luck. In fact, you could say that fate or the Bad Karma monster- or whoever controls that kind of thing- was after me. Big time.

But I decided to humor him and went, 'What makes you think that?'

Paul shook his head and motioned for me to come closer. Reluctantly, I stepped closer, and he whispered, 'Just think, Suze. If that had been Jesse out there with you instead of me, you'd be kind of dead right now. You know . . . no breath and all.'

'Bad joke, Slater.'

But he was right. I mean, Jesse could have fought them or something. But it would have been too late if I had drowned out there. There'd be no way Jesse could have saved me.

And given my lack-of-luck, I probably would have been doomed to roam this pathetic Earth for the rest of my afterlife.

So maybe it was a good thing that Paul was there to save me . . .

. . . Wait a minute. Paul said I stopped breathing. Meaning that in order for me to start breathing again he had to do something that Jesse couldn't have done . .

As in, give me oxygen –

EWW!!!

Aww, MAN!

AND not to mention the fact that if I'd been dragged under the water, and I was now out of the water, then Paul would have had to . . . you know, transport me from underwater to on shore.

That involves physical contact.

Most likely, him touching my skin . . .

Because, as aforementioned, I wasn't wearing all that much. Just a skimpy black bikini. God, he probably thought I was SUCH a SLUT.

Though, I think that Dani is the benchmark of that, so I'm pretty safe.

Not that I CARED what PAUL thought of me.

Suddenly, I became a lot colder. No, not because of the drop of temperature. I mean, yeah, it WAS cold. But my attitude was suddenly stone cold. I mean . . . eww . . .

I'm sure he was cringing, too, behind his lawyer-y I'm-perfectly-serious face.

'Whatever,' I mumbled, and very carefully, I got to my feet, although, at some point, I had to nervously use Paul's arm for support. I didn't WANT to, but my knees still felt like pudding. Being unconscious can do that to you. Believe me, I'd know, with the amount of times I have been.

What can I say? EVERYONE usually wants me dead.

'Uh, sorry,' I apologized, and hastily let go as soon as I was on my feet. I stumbled awkwardly away from him, but he did follow. Weirdo . . . I could handle myself –

Oh, SHUT up. That wasn't supposed to happen!! The drowning thing, I mean.

Ugh . . .

We made our long, silent way back around the school.

I sniffed, and said darkly, 'If I catch a cold, someone's gonna die.'

'What?' Paul asked from behind me, as we stepped through the high, dead grass, with only darkness in front and behind us. 'One sneeze and you'll blow up the house, or something?'

I flushed. 'No, I meant – ' I just scoffed in embarrassment. 'Never mind.'

God . . . it was so frigging cold. I mean, yeah, I had my jacket, but with the water, it was kind of sticking to me, and the water on my skin was practically frozen, and so the leather was like ice. And my wet hair wasn't helping, either.

Paul gave me a sideways look, and stopped me for a moment. I turned towards him, looking shocked at the abruptness of his halt. 'What?' I asked, but was horrified to find that, when I opened my mouth, my teeth started chattering. I clapped my hand firmly to my lips, holding my jaw in self-annoyance. God . . . how embarrassing.

He bowed his head to look at me. Because, um, yeah, 5'7, 6'3 much? It was kind of humiliating, that. How short I was. I hadn't grown an inch since I was sixteen, and . . .well, yeah. I mean, Danielle was like, six feet or something. And here's short ass li'l ol' me, at a towering five something.

The moon was casting shadows across the realms of his perfectly sculpted face. Because, yeah, okay, Paul was a hot guy. You could so tell that he wasn't single. I mean, any guy who looked like that couldn't possibly be single. One look, and you knew he had a girl.

Or guy.

Um . . . delicate topic. Don't mention it to him.

Ha, I wondered what he'd say if I mentioned that Queer Eye for the Straight Guy wanted to become the Fab Six, and I'd signed him up?

. . . I doubt there'd be too much gratitude involved.

That was when he pulled his own towel around my shoulders. It was almost dry now, which made me wonder exactly HOW long I'd been out cold.

I squeaked indignantly, but quickly silenced myself. It was still cold, but the weight of the barely-wet towel on my jacket did add some warmth, so yeah.

'Thanks,' I said awkwardly. 'Oh, and . . . so yeah, we're, er, even.' I winced a little, and sped up.

He caught up, and turned me to face him. 'What?'

I gave him a cold smile. 'You know, I saved your life with the Biker Bob thing in the Mission chapel, you saved mine just there. We're even.' Come on, it was the most obvious thing.

Paul stared, as if he didn't understand.

Oh, give me a break.

'Look,' I said, 'I know what you're doing. You're trying to make up for . . . you know, stuff. So yeah, you don't have to pay me back, now. That Cole thing's just out of guilt for you, I know, so yeah, you can forget about it, it's okay.'

I expected him to sigh in relief. I expected him to say, "Oh, thank God . . . "or something.

I did not expect him to glare at me like I'd just said his mother was butt ugly.

'Suze,' he snapped, 'It's not guilt. No one deserves to feel scared, 24/7. Not even you.'

Not even me. Oh, that's nice.

I gave him a nasty look, and yanked my jacketed arm away from his hand.

He'd totally just implied that I WAS a bad person. Did you HEAR that?! SERIOUSLY. He thought that, to some extent, I DID deserve to pay for sins. He TOTALLY thought that I deserved to feel scared, just not ALL the time.

THANKS, PAUL. THANKS A HEAP.

Thank God. I say that, because it was then we reached the front of the school. I walked up the ten steps that lead to the door, and then tried to open it with my yuckied hand. But, as I said, yucky. I then tried to lean against it, but the door was actually shut. Not, like, ajar or anything.

I sighed in frustration.

Paul moved next to me, and twisted the knob sharply, and it opened straight away. He shot me a sideways smirk.

Another victory.

'Where would you be without me?' he joked.

'In love,' I replied angrily, and shoved past him, inside.

I was serious. If it wasn't for him, I'd still be deeply and passionately in love with Jesse. We'd be happy.

But Paul screwed that up.

Yet another victory over me.

Once inside the pitch black entrance hall, only the moonlight from the windows above provided us with any luminance. Four large rectangles were cast along the ground. It was actually kind of unnerving to be standing in virtual darkness with Paul Slater. I mean, now he'd slammed the door shut, I could barely see him, only his outline. So yeah, I yanked his towel from my shoulders, and dumped it at his feet, so he'd know that I'd given it back.

'Shows me not to tread on your turf,' I said, almost bitterly, 'You know, with the whole lake thing.'

That was when his outline began moving towards me. I'll admit, okay, I kind of freaked, and quickly shuffled back, until I was caught in one of the distorted squares from the above windows. My hands had a ghostly pale look about them, almost a white-grey-blue. It was scary. Paul was standing practically over me, and I kind of felt that my heart was pounding at the base of my throat, and that no matter how much I swallowed, it wouldn't return to its rightful place.

'W-what?' I choked out.

WHAT? Okay, I was WIGGED, okay? I mean, we were kind of alone, and it was dark, and HEY, HE was the lawyer here, probably thinking, "Excellent . . . no witnesses . . . "

Mr C. Montgomery Burns fingers, and everything.

'Suze,' he growled severely. I could see the eerie white highlights that the moonlight though the window was casting in his hair. Yet his expression was a mystery to me. It was unknown, buried in darkness.

I had a bad feeling that he was glaring at me again. 'I don't know why you keep thinking that I don't give a damn. I do. I am actually GLAD that you're not sharing the same status as Jesse, okay? If I wanted you dead, do you think that I would have bothered to frigging RESUSCITATE YOU? No. So, Jesus Christ, STOP being so damned melodramatic. It's starting to piss me off.'

I was so shocked, honestly. He could have given birth to quadruplets and I don't think that I could have been more shocked than I was then.

I must have blinked for ages. I couldn't say anything. And I didn't even know exactly why. Probably the facts that Paul had yelled at me so angrily, or because he'd lied so convincingly. I wasn't sure. I really wasn't.

'Th-thank you, then,' I spluttered, 'For . . . you know, saving my life then.' A horrible chill swept over me, and threatened to lock me in a dungeon of ice. And I had no idea why . . .

Paul's outline was dead still. He didn't say anything for a whole thirty seconds. And with silence that deep, thirty seconds contains an eternity.

But what he said next, floored me.

And kind of convinced me that he was intensely bipolar.

'God,' he breathed, shaking his head softly, 'You have the most beautiful eyes, Simon.'

Oh my God . . .

You know that heart that I claimed to be jammed in my throat? Well, I think I started choking on it.

I stepped into the sanctuary of the darkness, very rapidly, at that. Okay, I don't think that I was the ONLY one who was feeling a little out of it. Someone obviously needed to catch up on sleep. Or maybe he HAD fallen asleep, while talking to me, and was sleep-talking? Murmuring about his lover, Simon Cowell?

IT COULD HAPPEN.

PAUL SLATER COMPLIMENTING ME ON MY ATTRACTIVE EYEBALLS, THOUGH, COULD NOT.

He was talking bullshit.

So I didn't even bother thanking him. I mean, okay, he was obviously doing some major groveling. Why, I didn't know. I mean, okay, groveling, but did he have to LIE? Like, MAKE UP NICE THINGS TO SAY?

I mean, why would he be bothered noticing a pair of eyes when his vision was being blocked by Dani's pair of mountainous knockers?

Honestly.

'I – I have to go,' I uttered, moving back further.

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'Go sleep. If you slip into a coma, I'll kill you, Simon.'

Um. Great. That would be jolly helpful.

I looked at him nervously, even though I was aware that he couldn't even see me, anymore. I could only see the top of his head. His wet hair had gone curly, and was gleaming whitely in the moonlight.

My back was now against the stairwell. I kind of bumped into it, and was brought to my senses. 'Uh,' I said. 'Um, yeah.'

Hey, no one ever said I was a speech therapist. So shut up.

I needed to have a shower . . . get the mud off of me . . . I needed to get out of here . . .

So I did. I practically ran up those stairs with legs that were still partly malfunctioning. I couldn't comprehend the possible idea that Paul would care. I mean, it was just too farfetched. No, not after everything. Not after all the things he'd learnt to hate me for. He didn't care. He was still playing the game.

The game that I'd never win.

I just wished that he'd stop taking so much pleasure out of messing with my mind. I couldn't take much more, I really couldn't . . .

And I think there was something WRONG with HIS EYES, if he thought mine were nice. So, yeah, my eyes were really, really green. But, nothing special. Really. They looked depressed. Because I guess, that's what I was. But seriously, they weren't beautiful. Nothing about me was.

Pretty, maybe, but not beautiful.

So I didn't think it was necessary for him to lie. That was just cruel. And hello, had he seen Danielle Moore's eyes when they were all made up? Totally gorgeous. Made-for-TV and everything. So yeah, this only confirmed that Paul was indeed, insane.

Or at least, blind.

Or very bored.

Or very sadistic.

Or all of the above.

Yeah. Probably.

As I was walking up the stairs, something hit me.

I almost died, tonight . . . and Paul prevented that death. He physically saved me. After condemning me five years ago to a life that was not a life at all, he'd saved me from my escape.

Part of me, a very scary part, wished he hadn't.

- 8 -

LONG REVIEWS.

Hahaha . . . Jesse swore . . .

Cough.

Hehehe. We are very sorry for the controversial chapter title. We hope you understand – it was highly necessary.

Well, actually, it was just late and Lolly couldn't think of anything else.

Whatever.

We think that we got this up QUICKLY. I mean, this one was only 33 pages, so whatever. But yeah, I (Lolly) couldn't bring myself to write anymore, on this late Monday night.

Actually, it's now Tuesday morning.

!!! NEXT CHAPTER SPOILER: We meet the ghosts that haunt Fortunaschwein Boarding School For Boys.

And it's not pretty.

OMG, we're just about to hit 300 reviews!!!! ARGH!!! YAY!!! YOU GUYS PUT THE AWE IN AWESOME. THE WICK IN WICKED. THE POO IN POOF!

. . . Actually . . . forget we mentioned that last one . . .

More coughing.

We love you all. Honestly. And we also LOVE questions. Even if we don't answer them, we make conscious efforts to answer them though the actual story, rather than just straight out. Someone said Suze was acting like a loser, I remember. Well, we agreed, and made sure that you ALL knew that that's how Suze was seeing herself. We ARE trying!

Love Lolly and Hayley.


	13. The Misfortunates

A/N: Hayley here, to annoy you. Wow, thirteen chapters. And way over three hundred reviews. I'm touched, guys, truly, as is Lolly. All of you have so many questions, it's hard to answer all of them on here. But they will be answered as we continue writing. And you know what? We're at unlucky chapter thirteen. You know what that means?

Good. Because I don't.

Kidding. Read on, and you'll see what mysteries it holds . . .

– 8 -

'Suze,' CeeCee snapped at me.

I looked up boredly from my cereal that Adam had made me, while in his half asleep state.

'Huh?'

'You weren't listening,' CeeCee replied grumpily. Her uber-white hair was looking truly shiny in its totally cute sports girl cut. Her thin framed silver glasses were back on, and she looked ready for action.

Academic action, that is.

And according to me that's, like, a form of capital punishment or something.

Baaaaaaaaah . . .

I groaned. 'Oh, uh, no, not really.' So SUE me. I'd had a pretty hard night. I wasn't, you know, sunshine and daisies NOW.

Not that I was going to go into detail, for CeeCee, at why my night had been so hectic. CeeCee's a journalist. A professional one, at that, working STILL for the Carmel Pine, but she's not on the little articles at the back of the paper anymore. She's got the front headlines, and she's been offered heaps of jobs from really big newspapers. Adam had whispered to me that the New York Times wanted to get their paws on her, and launched into this furious rant about how devious and sly New Yorkers were, when I smilingly reminded him that I was one.

That had shut him up quickly.

But yeah. Here was CeeCee, giving me this death glare. I mean, okay, I guess I should have been listening to what she'd spent the whole day yesterday researching, but . . . it was just so boring. I stopped. 'Cee . . . who wants to hear about how Fortunaschwein was founded in 1892 by Sir Patrick Fortunaschwein, an elderly man who endeavoured to provide the best education to the finest young males of the century? And who wants to hear about how the new and improved plumbing was installed in the early 1920s, for the students of the school's convenience? . . . THERE YOU GO. INFORMATION RETAINED. Can I sleep now?'

CeeCee gave me a hard look. 'Come on, Suze, that stuff's going to be useless,' she explained.

'I'll say.'

She sighed. 'Can we just spend most of today in the library, looking for real information?' she asked pleadingly. 'I mean, Jesse's been a great help, but I can't actually talk with him all that much. And plus, he's always exploring the place.'

. . . Exploring? Oh, so much for the PAIRS rule, Jesse. It's okay for YOU to go wandering around on your own, but me? Oooh, no, I have to have an ESCORT.

I would like it on the record that: I HATE GHOSTS.

. . . Thank you.

'So?' CeeCee gave me a hopeful look, 'will you help me research this place more? I mean, we have to know about the area we are studying before we go barging into rooms, and like, getting killed or hurt, or something,'

I blushed. She was referring to the dumbwaiter thing with Jack.

I knew, because she was smirking at me.

There remained only one problem with all of this research . . . where to start? I mean, sure the school was a big school back in 1969. But what about now? Who would want to waste precious bandwidth to make a site dedicated to a school that had long since closed for some unknown reason?

But CeeCee was totally keen on the whole research thing. She had scanned the library already, searching for anything and everything that had to do with the school or that might have given some information on it.

Some of the books she had found were scattered all over the table we were seated at in the dining hall. One of them, I noticed, was the Fortunaschwein Boy's School Handbook. I picked up the handbook and flipped through it boredly.

Pages . . . images . . . black and white . . .

'Hey, how about we go to the library?' CeeCee suggested.

WHAT?! NO. SHE CAN'T MAKE ME.

'Um,' I said quickly, 'You know that mallophobia I have? Well, funniest thing, I've developed a severe case of libraryophobia! Isn't that the WEIRDEST? I mean, one moment, I'm fine when – '

'Suze,' CeeCee said, 'Shut up. Come on. We are the SIA. Supernatural Investigations Agency. In order for the supernatural stuff to get solved, we have to actually investigate what we're solving.'

. . . Ugh.

'Fair enough,' I grumbled darkly.

CeeCee slid all of the books she'd gotten into this little neat book-carrier bag thingie. I mean, I didn't exactly marvel the bag or anything. Let's face it, it wasn't Prada or even Kate Spade. But it looked pretty convenient. I mean, it fit about six thick books in it.

I didn't think it was so cool when she dumped it at me, and made me carry it.

While I was dragging my feet to the library, it seemed as if CeeCee were skipping merrily. You know, like she actually looked forward to shoving her nose in some books for the whole morning, while there was a bright shining sun hanging in the cloudless sky, just outside the windows. But leave it up to Cee to be more enthused over a pile of books than over a bit of fresh air.

I just realized that spending all this time working inside the school was really going to affect my tan. And not in such a good way . . .

Hanging on the walls was a very large mirror. As I passed by, I glanced quickly at my reflection. I don't get it. I don't get Paul. Why he'd called my eyes beautiful still perplexed me.

It was just impossible to fathom that someone who had five years ago ruined my entire life, would just pay me off the wall compliments about my eyes. I mean, that's something you'd only hear from someone who, you know, liked you or something. And given the way Paul had been treating me ever since I came home, I doubt he liked me at all.

Maybe he was blinded by my obscenely white legs and began seeing little green dots, like the ones you see when someone takes a picture with flash, and totally mistook them for my eyes. Because that's the only way I could see my dark, sunken eyes as anything remotely close to beautiful.

Optimism faded on the tanning situation as we rounded the corner to the library. I had never really been in the library before, partly because I find libraries a little overwhelming.

I'm not afraid of them or anything, it's just the amount of books contained inside always left me feeling a bit dumb. I mean, there was no way someone could possibly know every bit of information those books held between the covers. Especially me, who hadn't cracked open a book, unless it was a textbook, in YEARS.

This library was no different from any other library I'd been to. I mean, sure it didn't have computers with Internet access on them, but it was still wall-to-wall books. It wasn't huge, but it was big enough. It had hundreds of books. They were dark with age, and looked like books strictly for school study, as if all other works of fiction had been confiscated or burnt. It even possessed the same library smell . . . the smell of old books and dust, which you could tell was pleasing to CeeCee's nose.

But as for mine? It made me want to sneeze.

CeeCee flicked the lights on, and I noticed the décor in the library was dark, just like the rest of the school. Placed around the room were plush dark green chairs and a few scattered tables. I almost dropped CeeCee's heavy bag on one of the tables as I set it down.

'Be careful,' CeeCee warned me quickly, 'those books are really old and delicate.'

'So is my back,' I whined, massaging it with one of my hands. CeeCee hardly looked sympathetic. Instead, she folded her laptop open on the table and snagged a chair to sit in. She began typing furiously on the small keyboard.

'What do you want me to do?' I asked, pulling up a chair beside her. I noticed she was on a search engine that I didn't recognize . . . one that was probably only known by highly esteemed journalists. She glanced at me over her shoulder and replied, 'Why don't you pull out a few periodicals? They're over there.'

I followed where her creamy finger pointed with my eyes . . .

No. No WAY. I had to CLIMB to reach the periodicals because they were on the very top shelf in huge, brown storage boxes. And I didn't even know what a periodical was.

I'm not cut out to be a nerd, I tell you. I had no idea there was that much physical labour involved in research.

No wonder Michael Meducci was able to maintain is abs of steel and beautiful biceps. He had to work to keep his geek status, after all.

Instead of having those cute little step-stool thingies they had at most libraries, this place had none. NONE, I tell you. It didn't even have any of those cool ladders with the wheels on them that they have at the bookstores but won't let non-employees use. You know, like the ones in Bedknobs and Broomsticks? The only way to reach the darn things was to grab one of those plush green chairs and use that as a stool.

I wanted to protest, but I felt an obligation to CeeCee. I mean, she was the one working the hardest here. For everyone else it was, like, a full-time coffee break. Except for Jesse who doesn't drink coffee. Or much of anything for that matter. Because that was just it. He wasn't actually MATTER.

So I pushed one of the green chairs over to the shelf, climbed on it, and tried to pry the box from the shelf. But let me tell you, whatever those periodical thingies were, they were HEAVY. When I finally had the box in my hands, I felt the plush chair beneath me sink a bit. After a bunch of wobbling and a few brave saves on my part, I finally managed to set the box off the chair, and climb off of it in one piece.

Not wanting to carry the box all the way back to CeeCee, I just sat down on the chair and opened it. What? My hand still kind of hurt from that thing last night. You know, gashing it and all. Sure, it LOOKED healed, but –

Fine, I'm a wimp. Get used to it.

Inside the box were, among the dust, these really tall and thick books. I mean, no WONDER it was so heavy. On the spine of the books read a small year, handwritten on there with what seemed like a permanent marker. Inside of the books, there were small clippings of newspaper articles and a few things from some magazines. I perused through a few of the years, like 1962 and 1964 . . . but I really didn't see much that pertained to the school.

I found the book labeled for the year 1969, which was bound in a black book. It was the only book in the whole box that wasn't labeled, nor was it finished either. I actually had to look inside of the book and see the date marked on the articles.

Well, at least it was something. CeeCee MIGHT have been able to get something out of it. She's just so much better at this kind of thing.

I left the box of periodicals and came back to CeeCee with my prize. She stopped typing long enough to say, 'Oh, cool. Set it over there. We'll look at it later.'

'Can't we look at it now?' I whined, as I plopped the book down next to her. 'I mean, your Internet search isn't pulling up much, from what I can see.'

CeeCee frowned, as she closed her laptop and pulled the large book in front of her. When she opened the book, her eyes widened at the sight of the browned articles, as if she'd found buried treasure or something.

Yeah, buried treasure all right. If these were so important, then why were they placed messily in an unlabeled book and packed into a box where no one would see them again?

She fingered an article about a wild environmentalist's conquest to save a tree that was about to be bulldozed. Apparently, he stood in front of it and when the cops tried to arrest him, he took the handcuffs away and handcuffed himself to the tree. There was even a picture. The guy looked totally rugged. You know, the kind that wears Birkenstocks with socks and tie-dyed shirts?

Yeah. One of those types. A hippie.

He probably played the guitar and wrote songs about the tears of Mother Earth.

And he probably ate a bunch of Tofu.

Tofu breath. Eww.

But anyway, CeeCee paused to skim over just about every article shown. It was kind of boring, especially since it was all really random human interest stories. Like this one about this dog that jumped into the ocean from a small speed boat, and they thought he'd died until they later found him still swimming the next morning.

I mean, wow. A dog that stayed swimming for 9 hours. Whoopee.

I wanted to groan really loudly. Seriously, I could almost feel the woebegone groan of lethal boredom bubbling, boiling, within the depths of my stomach, as CeeCee painstakingly searched page after page.

Well, this was boring.

I didn't even know what we were looking for. I mean, I sure as hell wanted to know who these ghosts were. After last night, I was really pissed off. Did these ghosts REALIZE that they had subjected me to the CPR of Paul Slater? How CRUEL is that?!

Until I heard her gasp.

I scrambled up in my chair. 'What is it Cee?'

She turned to look at me, with her violet eyes gleaming. Her expression seemed to read "This is HUGE".

'CeeCee? Tell me what you read,' I urged her. Instead of answering, she pushed the book over to me.

The headline read, "Burning for Learning: Boys killed in tragic fire".

"GILROY, CALIFORNIA: Students and faculty at Fortunashwein Boarding School for Boys, are packing up for home for an unexpected break. However, this is not an exciting time for the boys, and none of them seem too enthused about time off. Earlier this week, a fire torched in the attic of the large school, claiming the lives of four boys, whose names have been kept for the privacy of their families. These boys have been dubbed by the press, the Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein."

I looked up at CeeCee. 'Do you think –'

'Read on,' CeeCee interrupted. I swallowed. My throat had become suddenly dry and my fingers began to tremble as I found my place in the text.

"The motive of the four boys, the youngest age seventeen, and the others age eighteen, is unclear, but there is reason to believe that this could be tied to suicide. The arsenal report states, "There is no evidence of how this fire came about. No cigarette remains, no matches, not even traces of harmful gases were found".'

Whoa . . . this was big. An attic fire killed four boys . . . but how? And why? I mean, they didn't know the origin of the fire. Just that four poor unfortunate boys were stuck in it.

What were they doing in that attic anyway? And if they couldn't find the cause of the fire, what REALLY started it? Could it have really been suicide?

What was I thinking? Of COURSE it could have been suicide. Heather Chambers topped herself, right? And she was still hanging around like a bad smell afterwards.

'Cee,' I breathed, gripping her wrist tightly, 'What does this mean?'

'I have no idea, Suze,' CeeCee replied awkwardly. 'But I think it might have something to do with the sudden closing of the school. Look, this article was dated only two weeks before the official closing of the school.'

CeeCee pointed to the headline that read: "Farewell Fortunashwein."

All of a sudden, that bowl of Cocoa Puffs that Adam had fixed me earlier didn't seem to be settling very well in my stomach.

Hands. Many hands gripping my legs, holding them in the water.

The echoing laughter . . . there was no way that only one ghost could do that.

But four certainly could. And what if there were more?

Why? If these four boys committed suicide, why would they still be hanging around and haunting this place. I mean, they took their OWN life. Why would they, who so desperately tried to escape life, come back?

Unless . . . unless they really didn't want to die.

But who would kill them? Why would they kill them?

The room suddenly grew colder, and the hair on my arms stood up on end.

That was when Adam McTavish and Jack Slater burst into the library.

I swear to God, I almost shat myself. It was just, one minute, suspenseful silence, and then BAM! The door bursts open.

'Hi!' yelled Jack to me and CeeCee, 'Adam taught me a song he made up!'

CeeCee and I looked at each other, and then a silent oath shot between us. We weren't going to tell anyone else about this yet . . .

'Oh really,' I forced out a smile, 'Let's hear it?

Adam ruffled Jack's hair, and he grinned at me broadly. 'This kid's great,' he said cheerfully. 'Where'd you ever find him?'

'Well, we have to take the good with the bad,' I said dryly.

'Huh?' CeeCee asked.

'Paul,' I explained shortly.

'Oh,' she said.

Jack looked at me, grinning. He'd obviously forgotten how much of a loser he thought I was, according to yesterday's episode in the car. 'Do you know that Maroon 5 song from ages ago, Suze?' he wanted to know. His face was animated for some reason.

'Um,' I said, 'which one?' If truth be told, there was one Maroon 5 song that I positively hated with every fibre of my being.

'Harder to Breathe!' he exclaimed, plopping himself on one of the chairs.

. . . Oh, that one. That was okay.

As long as it wasn't "She Will Be Loved."

Adam was still grinning happily. He was obviously mega proud of himself for some reason. 'Okay, Jack, let's sing it to them,' he commanded, 'Positions, men, positions!'

Who he was talking to, we had no idea. He was the only man in the room, although, that can be negotiable. Adam was still this big, smiling little boy. I wanted him to stay that way, too. If he ever got serious, God help us.

CeeCee was smiling at him lovingly.

'Okay,' Jack scrambled next to Adam, 'Ready!' Adam got a beat going with his clapping hands. And they both began singing . . .

'How dare you say that my flatulence is despicable?

So irritating, and extremely hypocritical.

When you walk in the room you smell something real horrible

So bring a gas mask but forget things that are flamable . . . '

Me and CeeCee were already pissing ourselves laughing. Adam and Jack had obviously practiced a little bit of amateur dancing for this, which was really cute. They were crossing over and stuff, and doing things that only gay guys from extremely bad boy bands do, like tilting their heads, and screwing up their faces as they sung. Like I said, cute, but not something to be talked about in public. Then came the second verse . . .

'You scream and cry and beg me not to let another rip

While eating bake beans I advise you to go get a grip

You want to run but I won't ever, ever let you leave

It stinks so bad that you complain that it is hard to breathe!'

That was when Adam threw himself to his knees, and started moving his fingers dramatically. Jack, on the other hand, folded his arms and looked at me and CeeCee, punk-style. It was actually kind of scary. And they sang the chorus.

'When you get dizzy from the overwhelming smell.

You tell me that you would rather be burning in hell.

Like a prisoner of war in a chamber, dying from lethal gas,

"I need oxygen, oxygen, coz of the farts leakin' out of your ass . . . "

"I need oxygen, oxygen, coz of the farts leakin' out of your ass . . . "

'Bah dah!' Jack yelled, and they both struck poses.

'Holy crap,' I hooted. Me and CeeCee burst out laughing, in wild applause. 'HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!' we howled, 'That was awesome!'

Adam leant on the table and got up from his knees, looking thrilled. 'You liked it?' he beamed, 'I was worried that you were going to go all prude on me, Cee,' he grinned.

CeeCee scowled merrily at him. 'As if,' she smiled, 'I've had to put up with you all my life, I think that I can take a few of your fart jokes. Very nice, Adam.'

'Stop corrupting Jack,' I sniggered. 'That's Paul's job.'

'What's my job?'

My heart jumped. I turned to the arched doorway of the library, and saw that Paul had obviously been passing when he'd heard his name. He was dressed like a human being today – well, almost – in jeans, and a skin tight white top that showed off everything, if you know what I mean.

Nothing that I hadn't seen the night before, mind you.

. . . Jeez, if you didn't know about the whole drowning thing, that would actually look kind of bad, huh? As if Paul and I had . . . ugh.

I don't even want to go down that road. It's too nauseating.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. In a panic, I casually slammed the 1969 yearbook closed, and shot Cee an intense look, saying, "He can't know about this," to which she nodded with a look of, "I know, he's a stuck up, arrogant, annoying, snooty loser with an anorexic bitch of a girlfriend who is SO totally a frequent nip 'n' tucker."

Well, that's what I interpreted her look to say. Sue me if I'm wrong?

'Um, nothing,' I said to him quickly.

Which was obviously something. I mean, it was only the other day that he'd told me that my "nothings" were always "somethings."

Which was kind of annoying. That he'd caught on, I mean.

Paul hadn't moved from the doorway. He'd fixed me with a pale blue gaze. Then he smirked. 'You feeling better Suze?' he asked slyly.

I flushed. CeeCee gave me a funny look. 'Were you sick?' she asked.

'Did you vomit? 'Adam asked.

. . . Ew.

'No,' I forced out a laugh, 'I was just . . . um, dizzy, that's all.' I glared at Paul, daring him to tell them all what had happened at the lake behind the school last night.

'Yeah, you were dizzy all right,' he played with the fire. I looked at him stiffly.

'What do you want?' I asked, my voice cold.

Paul raised his eyebrows. 'I'm looking for Dani, if you must know.'

Adam shrugged. 'She's off exploring with Jesse, she told me.'

Paul's eyes snapped to him. He looked angry. 'What?' he demanded jerkily.

Adam blanched. 'Uh, that's just what she said,' he said hurriedly, 'then again, she might have been joking, and I would never know, because I can't see the guy, right?'

. . . Jesse was exploring with Dani . . .

I was suddenly kind of skeptical of Dani's "girl stuff" excuses at why she hadn't been around much lately. I mean, not that I was complaining at her absence, it was doing ME wonders not having to be declined car rides when I'd been in HOSPITAL – yes, I was NOT going to forget THAT – but now . . . it looked as if Dani wasn't having PMS trouble at all. Which is still gross.

What's even grosser is that she was lying to Paul, to spend time with Jesse.

Oh my God . . .

And Paul looked like he was about to spit venom, too.

He gave me an acute glare, before taking off.

No one followed. We were all kind of stunned.

'Are Paul and Dani going to break up?' Jack asked, looking completely crushed.

'No,' CeeCee said quickly, 'They're not. I'm sure Dani's just . . . um . . .'

'I think I know what happened,' I lied kindly to Jack. 'I think that Dani is just so eager to explore the school, and she went off, and you know how Jesse's a gentleman?' I said, to which he nodded. 'Well, I think that Jesse has gone with her just to make sure that she's safe. Which is a nice thing of him to do.'

Yeah, and the Backstreet Boys are all straight, Suze.

Jack looker convinced though. It was obviously a buyable story, because even Cee and Adam looked pretty reassured.

Which meant that they were giving Danielle Moore WAY too much credit.

And it also meant that Paul wasn't giving her enough, considering that they were seeing each other and all.

Which was pretty cool, you know?

I relaxed in my seat again.

Then Adam noticed something.

'Suze, why have you got your flashlight with you?'

I frowned, not understanding what he meant. I looked down, and saw on the table, that the flashlight that I'd gotten from Doc back in Carmel a few days prior, was lying there.

Whoa, I hadn't noticed that I was carrying it around.

'Um,' I mumbled, kind of embarrassed, 'What's wrong with that?'

'Uh, it's daylight?' Adam suggested.

I shrugged. I wasn't going to say it, but I guess having a flashlight was kind of like my safety-blanket. Something I could trust to show the way when things got dark.

Even if that happened to be when the sun was shining.

Again, I shrugged. 'Just in case,' I said.

Which was so true . . .

I looked back at Adam, and saw that he was nodding slowly.

'Oh, shut up,' I scowled at him, and whacked him on the head with it.

'OW!' he yelled. 'HEY!'

I sniggered. Cee gave me an amused yet annoyed look, and took that opportunity to stand up, and give Adam a big, mumsy hug. 'Want me to kiss it better?' she beamed at him.

Adam gave me an exaggerated wink, and said, 'Good work, Agent Spanish Sweetheart!'

. . . I'm going to kill Paul for inventing that.

'Ha!' Adam cracked up, 'I just remembered something. Does anyone here watch X-Files?'

'I do,' CeeCee said. 'But you know that.'

'Yeah, you only watch it so you can disprove all of the stupid theories that Scully comes up with,' Adam grinned.

'Gillian Anderson is hot,' Jack piped up.

. . . We stared at him.

Literally, wasted a moment of our lives, looking at him in astonishment.

And then continued.

'Well, do you remember that episode where they're making a movie about Scully and Mulder?' Adam said energetically, 'remember the flashlight bit, Cee?'

CeeCee laughed. 'Yeah.'

'What flashlight bit?' I asked curiously, grabbing my own kind of protectively, just in case Adam decided to use it in a possible demonstration.

It turned out I had nothing to worry about. According to this episode of X-Files, Adam had his own flashlight.

'Well, what happened was Scully and Mulder were in a graveyard, and then they rolled down a hill, and landed in a coffin, which slammed closed when they fell in,' Adam recounted. 'And Scully was like to Mulder, "Is that your flashlight, Fox, or are you just happy to be lying on top of me?" and Mulder is all like, "Oh, Scully, I love you," and then he starts kissing her, and then Scully breaks away, and is like, "Mulder, I can't do this," and he's like, "Why?" and she's like – '

CeeCee coughed, and continued, because Adam was talking faster, and faster, 'she says, "I have something to tell YOU, Mulder . . . I'm in love with Walter Skinner, our boss. Mulder says indignantly, "What has HE got that I don't have?!" to which she sighs gustily, ". . . A bigger flashlight . . . "

Jack blinked. 'I don't get it.'

I laughed, hard. 'Ha!'

Adam looked at me, in a jokey-seductive way, 'Hey Suze . . . it you ever lose that flashlight you got there, you can hold mine if you want . . . '

Which earned him a hard smack on the head from CeeCee.

'OW.'

I giggled again. 'Don't go flashing your flashlight to anyone, okay?' I said. 'Or CeeCee will confiscate your batteries.'

CeeCee snorted, and Jack snapped, 'What does THAT MEAN?!'

Which made us laugh more.

'You'll know when you're older,' Adam waggled his finger at Jack.

Which made us laugh even harder when Jack pouted heavily.

When Jack threatened to leave, we finally stopped laughing.

I looked at CeeCee and Adam warmly. CeeCee still had her arms around Adam, and they both looked so peaceful. So in love with each other.

. . . How could I have ever grown apart from these two?

It just didn't seem possible. Here were two of then best friends that anyone could ever ask for – smart, caring, funny – and I'd cut myself off from them. From everyone.

I felt ashamed of myself all over again.

CeeCee sighed, 'I wish I was a mediator too.'

I choked on my spit, and Jack and I both said in unison, 'No you don't.'

CeeCee frowned a little. 'Nah, I think that it would be kind of cool – '

'It's not,' I warned her. 'It's dangerous, and it's an ability that I wouldn't wish on anyone. It sucks, doesn't it Jack?'

'Big time,' he said. 'And Paul makes it out to be like some huge gift, like Father Dom used to.'

'He still does,' I said severely. Sorry . . . just, the way Jack said that, it was as if Father D was in past tense. Which wasn't CORRECT. Father Dom was still in hospital, yeah, with massive head trauma. I knew that. I knew that the nurses said he kept going in and out of consciousness, and all though he'd be fine, he needed a long rest, because he'd been under a LOT of stress lately.

Which was weird, seeing as I'd left Carmel five years ago.

There wouldn't be that much to stress about, with me there, right?

It then occurred to me that Jack really WAS a lot different from his brother . . . they both had very different philosophies on the aspect of mediation. But then, that could have just been because one was a shifter, and the other was a mediator.

'But come on,' CeeCee persisted, 'It must be awesome, to be able to make contact with the dead souls that have departed this life – '

'Not when they're bitter and they want to kill you,' I said moodily. 'Trust me, Cee. You're the lucky one here.'

'But – what about Jesse? You were hot for him back in highschool,' CeeCee said in protest. 'Don't tell me HE was a drawback to the shifting thing.'

I paused for a second. Then, staring hard at my flashlight, I said, very evenly, 'That's in the past, Cee. That was a long time ago. Even more proof that this shifting thing is a curse. The fact that I fell in love with a ghost is the very epitome of the burden I bear. I've broken bones for the shifting cause, sure. But it was even worse when I broke me heart. And that's all there is to it,' I muttered.

I looked back up, and saw that Cee, Adam, and Jack were all staring at me sympathetically.

'What happened?' CeeCee asked quietly.

'Never mind,' I said, 'I'm over it.'

Lie.

'No you're not,' Adam burred.

'It's in the past,' I can't even remember it,' I shrugged.

Another lie.

I remembered every second of it.

Adam started to say something, but I abruptly began my story. 'We'd just graduated,' I smiled, 'And it was the night of our Graduation Dance. Not Prom . . . sometimes I get them confused . . . anyway. I wouldn't dance with anyone, you remember. Because I was waiting for Jesse to come. He promised he would, and that we'd dance. Back then, it was all I could have dreamed of. Dancing with the guy that I'd given my heart and soul to.'

Cee dropped her arms from Adam, and sat down on a chair opposite mine, and Adam moved behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders stiffly.

My lips twitched glumly. 'Yeah. I had big hopes for that night. I had a question for Jesse, one which I was so sure I knew the answer to. I was a graduate, now, and I hadn't been accepted into NoCal, like you, because of my late application, and I so I knew that I was going to Boston College in Massachusetts. Which was kind of okay, as long as Jesse said yes to what I was going to ask him,' I shrugged.

'What were you – ' Jack began, but Adam stepped on his foot. Well, I assumed he did when Jack when, 'Ah, what the – oh, sorry.'

I stopped. 'Oh, god, sorry, I'm depressing you all, forget I mentioned it – '

'Suze,' CeeCee said firmly, 'Keep going.'

'Um . . . okay.'

So I did.

'Oh, well, as you can probably guess, I was going to ask him to move with me to Massachusetts. So stupid of me . . . but then again, I was only seventeen back then. I WAS stupid. In everything that I did. I was so happy, that night, because I knew that I was going to spend it with the guy I loved, who I thought, loved me back.

'I went to the chapel, just like he'd told me to go,' I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair, and started vaguely plaiting three small locks of it, 'And . . . I was dressed in pink. It was a very soft rose pink, and I felt so pretty. I'd gotten my hair done in the mall, despite my mallophobia, and I had this pretty necklace on . . . simple and elegant. I was waiting by the alter, and it gave me the warmest feeling,' I smiled. 'As if . . . okay, I know this sounds really pathetic, but like . . . I was getting married, or something.'

I gave a little laugh in preparation for them to all starting mocking my pitiful past fantasies, but no derision came. So I continued, again.

'And when Jesse materialized there, in the chapel,' I shook my head softly, 'I fell in love over, and over, and over again.' I ran my fingers through the baby plait I'd just done, smoothing my hair, and began another one, not thinking about it all that much. I was falling back into the past, and God, I knew it.

'He was standing by one of the pews,' I reminisced. 'He was so tall, and looked so nice. Even though he didn't look any different, he always looked perfect to me. I smiled at him, and then he asked me to dance. I can't even remember the song . . . I was just too happy to be in his arms to hear what music was playing in the hall. The music was quiet, because we were in the chapel and couldn't hear it as strong as everyone in the gymnasium could. But still,' I shrugged, 'I was the happiest I'd ever been. I thought my life was finally at an all time high. My head was on his chest, and he was whispering things in my ear that I couldn't even understand . . . but it made my heart race al the same . . .

'And even when the song ended, me and Jesse just kept revolving slowly, and gracefully. He was such a great dancer. None of the embarrassing Victory Dance that he did after he won poker,' I said offhandedly to Adam. 'Be glad you didn't witness that. It was kind of scary.'

Adam grinned weakly.

I sighed. 'After a few moments, we stopped. I didn't even care that much that Kelly Prescott and Paul Slater, of all people, had gotten Prom Queen and King anymore. That was their own business. There, Jesse was making me feel more beautiful than I had ever felt in my entire being. Like he loved me in every aspect of the word. Love . . . ha. Like I said, I was stupid. Because what I asked then ruined everything.'

CeeCee's eyes were riveted on me. I kept plaiting my hair, not noticing what I was really doing.

'Stupidly, I asked him about moving with me. To Massachusetts. That's when his eyes, which had been so romantic and all, suddenly went kind of aloof again. And I kind of panicked. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that he couldn't go. That he refused to move. And I didn't understand why. And his eyes just kept getting darker and darker, and I didn't understand why . . . '

I was still nervously plaiting grouped strands of my hair . . . faster now.

'That was when he said that we couldn't be together any more, and I think that was about when my world just . . . crashed. Like a car. It went straight off the cliff. And – '

Only, suddenly, I couldn't just keep telling this story. No, my mind was transported back totally into the past . . . into that moment where I'd ruined everything.

- 8 -

'I refuse to go with you, Susannah.'

That's what he said. It took forever to sink in. I swear. I couldn't feel anything for several seconds. He wasn't supposed to answer like that. He was supposed to pull me into a passionate embrace and mutter consents to me, in between zealous kisses.

He was NOT SUPPOSED to refuse to come with me! No, no, no . . .

'Susannah . . . this cannot be enough for you. I cannot. You will see, Susannah, that sooner or later, I will not satisfy you. I am dead, and you have always known that we cannot be. You will want someone who you can introduce to your friends and family. They cannot see me.'

'That's fine!' I babbled, 'I'll, um, wrap you in bandages, Jesse! And, um, say you'd been in a car accident! It'll be fine – '

'No, it will not. Susannah . . . I can't even provide for you. There is no future with me. You must know that. And certainly not . . . children.'

'Jesse!' I said in horror, 'I'm seventeen! Jesus Christ! Please, don't - I don't want those things . . . I want you, that's what I want . . . '

I appealed to him with my eyes, for my throat had temporarily closed down. I could feel my nose getting itchy and my eyes stinging. And my skin was undergoing the strangest sensations I'd ever experienced. It felt like every inch of skin on my body was suddenly deadly corrosive.

Jesse ran his hand through his hair. He was shaking. I couldn't understand why . . . why he was saying these things. It was a joke, right? I mean, honestly, KIDS?! I only just went for my LICENSE.

'Do not say that,' he growled softly, 'It is not true . . . you do not feel like – '

'Jesse, don't you DARE tell me how I feel!' I shouted at him. Now, I was starting to get very scared. A horrible, HORRIBLE thing was happening . . . and I didn't know how to stop it. It was like a flood was on it's way, and I'd just found out I had no wood to build the arc.

'Susannah, I cannot control anything that you feel. I'm just telling you what I know. And what I know is that in the coming years, this may not be enough for you,' Jesse reasoned.

HE WAS TALKING CRAZY-TALK! NO, NO, NO!

'Jesse, you're wrong, I – '

'I am not. Susannah, you must know that this is how things are. We . . . we cannot last forever. There are obstacles . . . . time being one. You know this, Susannah.'

Time . . .

'Jesse!' I yelled, as my heart felt like it was refusing to beat properly. It was barely pumping, and in an erratic pattern, no less. 'Jesse, I don't care! I love you, and that's all that matters! . . . Unless . . . you don't wanna see me wrinkly . . . oh my God . . . ' I stepped back from him quickly, 'Jesse, is – is that it? You don't want to . . . to be with me?'

JESSE DIDN'T WANT TO BE WITH ME!!!! OH, WOE!

'That's it, isn't that?' I demanded. 'You love me, but you don't want to be with me. Hell, do you even LOVE me?!' I questioned suddenly, because I, for SOME REASON, wasn't so SURE of that right now. 'Was this just a temporary thing, Jesse? You, having been alone for what, a hundred and fifty years?'

I looked away sharply. The chapel was suddenly FREEZING cold. I didn't feel beautiful anymore . . . I felt like a slut, or something. I didn't even know why, but that was how Jesse made me feel, at that second. Like he'd used me for kissing purposes . . . and that was all he'd wanted, not to move in with me or anything . . . I felt like a petrified statue.

The candles on the altar seemed so much colder now . . .

'Susannah . . . I do love you. With all my soul, I do. But . . . that's all I have, Susannah. A soul. A soul that is supposed to be elsewhere. You know this, Susannah . . . '

The candles' flames were flickering . . . dying . . .

'And what? I'm holding you back? You want to be somewhere else?' I asked, making every effort to swallow down the lump in my throat. There was a horrible lump in my throat . . . he wasn't supposed to say this . . . he was meant to be kissing me, and whispering sweet Spanish that I didn't for the life of me understand . . . and loving me. Not hurting me like this, no . . .

'I-I do not know what is holding me back, Susannah, but when I find out, that will be the end of me . . . of us.' His hands, I noticed, were shaking. But he had a soft hardness in his eyes. Like, he was trying to block out something very painful . . . or not show it. 'This is not easy for me. I want to be with you . . . but this is for the best.'

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

'I can't . . . I can't believe you're doing this . . . ' I whispered, barely audible.

My mouth was open very slightly, and I felt a deadly chill. Like I'd fallen through an ice lake, into the freezing water below . . .

'I cannot believe I am doing this either,' Jesse held his shaking hand out and looked at it. It was glowing. It always glowed. It served as a constant reminder that Jesse did not belong to this Earth any longer, and yet he was far from welcome in the spirit plane. He was stuck . . . stuck in some sort of limbo between the two, an outsider in both parts.

A hollowness overtook me, combining ruthlessly with the feeling of terrible, everlasting cold.

'I love you, Susannah. I wish you well . . . only the best. I may want to go with you, querida, but that is the last thing you need.'

He thought he knew what I needed? He didn't know anything . . .

Jesse stepped closer to me, reaching out his shaking hand to touch my face. His fingers were warm, but they made my icy face sting in pain. He let his eyes take over for a bit . . . searching mine for something, anything that could save us.

He found nothing.

Nothing.

I stepped back. 'You have no idea what I need,' I said in a low, furious voice. He turned to look at the statue of the Mother Mary. I stared at his turned head. My eyes were getting wetter with each passing second.

He was breaking my heart.

I thought that when Father Dominic had been saying this a year earlier, it had been terrible. But from Jesse – directly from him – it was so, so much worse.

'Susannah . . . please. I never meant for things to become like . . . like this. We cannot be. And as much as we try, I fear there is always some obstacle,' he explained, staring at the statue. Because he couldn't bear to look at, God forbid, ME.

'So what? Jesse, that's the great thing about this! It's exciting, Jesse. This is . . . it's like a ride. I don't want to get off. I really don't. If you jump off now, I'll puke. I will!' Ever a way with words, right? I ran up to him, and stood before him. He was so tall . . . I gabbed the folds of his white shirt, and sunk lower than I thought it was possible for me to go.

I begged.

'Jesse, please . . . there's always obstacles, you know that. We'll beat them all! We can, because love is powerful! We can beat the crap out of the obstacles! I know we can!'

I was pathetic . . . I was desperate . . . I was so vulnerable . . .

Jesse's hands moved to my waist awkwardly. He couldn't even BEAR to touch me. 'Susannah, do not do this. Some obstacles are just too great, Susannah. Time is our greatest foe . . . we do not stand a chance.'

I was so scared . . . so scared . . .

'Fine . . . I won't go. I'm not going to college then. Nope, I'm staying. If you're not going to come, then . . . I'll just, um, keep working in Carmel. Yeah . . . Jake can weasel me into a job at Pizza Peninsula, and I can get an income and I can - well, mum and Andy can buy me a house . . . and I'll be here. With you! I'll stay, for you!' I was breathing harder, and harder, and harder.

'What I'm doing is for you, Susannah,' Jesse said firmly. 'I cannot let you throw your life away. It is not fair on you.'

'No . . . I'm not throwing it away . . . never, if you're there . . . Jesse, you're not just come bin that I'm pouring myself into . . . you're Jesse. I love you . . . You're not a ghost, or Hector, or some guy who refuses to get out of my room, you're Jesse.'

Jesse slid his shirt from beneath my fingers. As if he'd banned my right to touch him anymore. I felt like everything was slipping away, too . . .

'And you...you are Susannah Simon. You the most brilliant woman that a man could ever hope to meet. Got to college, Susannah. You deserve better than this pizza place you speak of. You – ' he broke off, looking down for a moment, 'You . . . deserve better than me.'

'No,' I insisted. My soul was slipping away . . . my heart, my mind, my ability to love . . . my rationality, everything . . . I was crying. 'Jesse, please!' I ran back to him, and threw my arms around his neck again. This was pathetic. I was begging for him to take me. I felt like some prostitute that a rich man had refused to see anymore. I was so low . . . Beneath him, right now. His face was millimeters from mine now. I felt his hands, again, come to my sides, and he pushed me gently away from him.

'No,' he declared firmly.

And I knew, then, there, that he wasn't going to change his mind . . .

'Goodnight, Susannah.'

'You mean goodbye, don't you,' I said coldly. A lone tear streaked down my face. And he was not there to catch it. He was watching me cry.

That was the cruelest thing he could ever do. Break my heart, and watch me cry.

'Goodbye is hard to say, Susannah. It's to permanent for my liking.'

'But that's what this is,' I said wildly, 'You're not coming with me. You don't want to see me again. So have the decency to SAY GOODBYE!'

He didn't say what I needed to hear, for this to be concluded. Instead, he was heartless enough to say, 'Have fun at your Graduation Dance.'

'Fun,' I echoed flatly with a humourless laugh. There was nothing funny about it.

Inside, I was dying the deaths of all those who'd ever been tortured.

I couldn't believe that I didn't see this coming. Who was I kidding? Why would Jesse want to stay? I was just this stupid seventeen year old. This pathetic girl, who happened to be able to see him. How could I have been so freaking STUPID?!

And then, he said it.

'Goodbye.'

My universe, as I knew it, stopped moving. Nu,b . . . that's how I felt. My stomach was threatening to fall out completely. I felt sick . . . so incredibly sick.

'Now you say goodbye, Susannah, I cannot leave until you say it,' Jesse whispered.

'No,' I said stubbornly, and yes, snidely, 'I'm not saying it.'

He raised his still shaking hands to his face. 'Please?'

My voice was still ridden with despair. But it wasn't my nature to take this with no anger. Tears lined my face, but I was furious. How could he DO this? How COULD HE?!

'PLEASE?!' I screamed, 'PLEASE, JESSE?!'

'This time I'm not going to say 'please,' Susannah. Go on and live. Do right. Serve ghosts and respect them, Jesse added with fury. He was annoyed with me, too. Past that. 'Go and save the world. You can do anything, Susannah. Without me.'

'No, I can't! I can't! Not without you! I'm NOT leaving, either!' I moaned.

'You can. And you will. Go. Now.' His fists were at his sides, and they were turning as white as his scar.

I would not be pathetic. I would NOT go down without a fight.

'I won't. I'm not going anywhere.' I was determined as he was. More so. My death glare was proof of that.

'Go or I shall make you. And trust me, Susannah, it WON'T be pretty,' he narrowed his eyes at me.

'Try me,' I goaded, stepping forward up to the challenge. He wouldn't hurt me. And even if he did, it would be nothing compared to what he'd already done. I'd been destroyed on the inside. That was all that mattered, so anything else didn't count. Hell, it's only a body after the soul has left.

Passion, hurt, and anger were fueling me.

His eyes softened for just a moment . . . 'Susannah . . . ' But they hardened again. 'Go.'

'You don't have to say goodbye. I will let you go with that. Now, before I lose my temper, LEAVE.'

'NO!'

'I will not say goodbye again, Susannah. Leave this chapel, now.' Jesse pivoted on his heel, so his muscular back was towards me, now facing the altar. He muttered several loud Spanish curses.

'I'M NOT GOING! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT I FEEL, JESSE! I KNOW WHAT I FEEL, YOU CAN'T CHANGE THAT!' I shrieked at him in a volume that made Father Dom's birds nesting on the top of the chapel to take flight in alarm.

Facing the altar, Jesse began muttering things . . . I didn't understand them. 'Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo . . .'

'JESSE!'

'Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús . . . '

'Jesse! LOOK AT ME! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!'

'Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.'

'PLEASE – '

'Amén.'

That was when I shoved him over, hard. He fell, sprawled on the ground, on his stomach. I stood over him, panting. He turned so he was sitting on the ground, leaning back on his hands, staring up at me with clouded eyes.

'You said you loved me, but I'm starting to think that was all a JOKE,' I spat at him, 'because you don't REALIZE what you're doing! If you were telling the truth, you wouldn't be doing this! You can't possibly defend yourself with that "it's for the best" crap!'

'I AM telling you the truth, Susannah. That WE can never happen. WE are not supposed to happen. It's unnatural, Susannah, and it isn't right,' he barked up at me.

No, no, no . . . no, no, NO, NO, NOOOOOO!!!

'IT HAS HAPPENED! I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU'RE DENYING IT!!! I screamed at him, by voice crackling, 'I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU'RE DOING THIS! YOU'RE HURTING ME! PAUL WOULDN'T DO THIS!!'

. . . Oh, no.

'I mean, I –'

'I think you should leave,' he said, his voice now different. He returned to his feet, and turned away.

'It wasn't supposed to come out like that, Jesse,' I whispered, but he pointed a shaky finger towards the chapel entrance.

Things were now messed up, beyond repair.

'Are you daft, Susannah?' he asked angrily, turning back to me, 'You must leave. I told you to go. No more . . . no more of this.'

'This?' I choked. 'Loving you? You want me to stop, Jesse?'

' . . . Yes,' he nodded solemnly. 'If it will make you leave, then yes.'

How could he be so cruel . . . how?

I was starting to get an inkling of exactly WHY Heather Chambers had killed herself.

'Goodbye, querida.'

A rage so ferocious overwhelmed me. 'Don't . . . call . . . me . . . querida,' I said in a low, enraged growl that came from the depths of my wounded heart.

I stepped back. My eyes were wide, and they were swimming. Then, I muttered the three most powerful words in the history of my vocabulary.

'I . . . I hate you . . . '

'W – what?' Jesse asked, bewildered. His eyes widened in alarm. 'Susannah – '

'What, Jesse? You think we can still be friends? Pen pals? Say "hi" in the street? You just told me goodbye. I just told you how I feel. Now I'm ready to leave. Go screw yourself, cadaver breath.' I kept backing away, my eyes filled with devastated tears.

Somewhere inside me, I meant those words. They were born of the hurt he'd so suddenly caused.

Religious things in the chapel began to shake. The candles did, their flames flickering dangerously now. The pews were coming a little loose, and paintings of the Stations of the Cross were threatening to fall and shatter on the cold, hard ground.

The huge light bulb way up at the top of the chapel was also wobbling dangerously. I stared at it.

'Goodbye,' I said.

The bulb pelted down, and shattered on the ground. It was gone. In a million pieces.

'Goodbye, Susannah,' he said stonily.

'I'm glad we agree on that,' my voice crackled.

This was how it was to end, then? Yes. It was not in my nature to mourn. No, I was known to be devastated . . . and then extremely PISSED.

All the candles on the altar went out. The flames were dead. They had once burnt brightly, but now they were gone. As if they could never be lit again. The chapel was cast into darkness.

Complete darkness.

Because Jesse had gone.

. . . I slid into the nearest pew, and began to cry like I didn't know it was possible. Things, precious things, were breaking inside of me.

And that was when it came on. She Will Be Loved, by Maroon 5. God, I hated that song right then . . . The uncanny relation to what had just happened was abominable. The words, they cut my like daggers could not.

- 8 -

Beauty queen of only eighteen,

She had some trouble with herself.

He was always there to help her,

She always belonged to someone else.

- 8 -

I drove for miles and miles and

Wound up at your door

I've had you so many times but

Somehow I want more

- 8 -

I don't mind spending everyday

Out on your corner in the pouring rain

Look for the girl with the broken smile

Ask her if she wants to stay a while

And she will be loved.

And she will be loved.

- 8 -

Tap on my window,

Knock on my door,

I wanna make you feel beautiful

- 8 -

I know where you hide

Alone in your car

Know all of the things

That make you who you are

- 8 -

I know that goodbye

Means nothing at all

Comes back and begs me to

Catch her every time she falls.

- 8 -

Please don't try so hard to say goodbye . . .

8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

'Oh, Suze . . . '

For the first time in about ten minutes, I stopped talking, and looked up to find CeeCee, Adam and Jack staring at me. CeeCee looked heartsick, Adam looked shocked, and Jack looked horrified.

I'd been telling the story tonelessly. Not like the one in my head. A blanker version. With thoughts, and actions, and occasional dialogue. Not the heartbreak that I had been feeling.

Now do you understand?

Why I cannot look at Jesse in the same way, ever again?

This had all come before that letter. Oh, God, after Grad Dance, a few days after, was when I went to the Point with Paul. I was hurt. So undeniably hurt. I only went because of what had happened to Jesse, and Paul seemed to eager to help me. I'd been baited, once again. Lured there by a promise. The first time, it had been the promise of knowledge, and that time, it had been the promise of compassion.

Oh, I'd got compassion, all right.

Emphasis on "passion."

I'd been so upset, and Paul had had the nerve to take advantage of my vulnerability. It was like he'd violated my trust.

I seriously couldn't understand the hate that God felt for me. These were the mistakes that I made. And yet, God offers no forgiveness for me. I cannot forget these things that I did, the people I hurt, the lies I told . . .

I was being punished now. I knew it, in some weird way. Cole was the embodiment of my punishment. And God had made me incapable of fighting back against him. I'm no wimp. It wasn't that I couldn't take Cole Kennedy. He was an average sized guy. But it was the effect he had on me . . . like I was paralyzed. I couldn't explain it. So if Cole hit me, I, by some ungodly force, could not reciprocate that action of violence.

This was MY purgatory.

Ha . . . and to think, Paul said I didn't deserve it . . .

I wish I could believe him.

'Suze, oh my God, I had no idea,' CeeCee said the next moment. Her hand was on her mouth in utter shock, and Adam was dead still.

'You've kissed Paul before, haven't you,' accused Jack.

Adam stepped on his foot all over again, and Jack whined.

I stared at Jack, seeing how freakishly similar he was to his elder brother's appearance. It was eerie, that.

'Yes,' I said flatly.

'I knew it!' he said, 'When you said yesterday that you've seen his room, I knew that – '

CeeCee coughed, and Jack had the sense to shut up.

I blinked sadly. 'If you don't mind me saying, this all started because of your brother.'

I'm serious. I think that Paul was the variable that caused my life to be like this. Of the thousands of variables, he was the one who I could blame it on, from almost any angle.

It gave me a break from blaming myself.

'Hey,' Jack said defensively, 'It's not his fault.'

I smiled a little. I wasn't about to argue with Jack about this. He had no idea what had gone down. I didn't want him to know, either.

He looked skeptical. I didn't care. I had no reason to try and convince Jack that his brother was a bad person. I already knew it. Despite how much Paul had appeared to have changed, he still relished the thought that I was suffering. I had every reason to believe that he didn't really care about the Cole thing. And if he did, he was only helping me so he'd look like the hero in the end.

Because, God knows, Paul just loooooved playing the hero. Right from that time when he rescued me from those cops at the Pebble Beach Resort, when they came to question about Dr. Clemmings' death.

Were-you-aware-that-Suze-is-a-minor my ass. That act was so transparent.

I smiled at CeeCee. 'Look, I've told you, okay? Can you not repeat that to anyone?' I eyed Jack intensely. 'Especially you. You breathe a word of that to Paul, and I'll tell your girlfriend Mary that you think she's fat.'

Jack's eyes went wide. 'You wouldn't.'

'I certainly would. AND I'll say you think she's facially challenged,' I said dangerously.'

'And I'll get medieval on your hiney,' Adam warned, seizing my flashlight, turning it on, and leaning over Jack's shoulder menacingly, shining it in his eyes.

The kid squinted against the glare, looking freaked. I told Adam to tone it down a bit before Jack called for his lawyer, which would, just to annoy me, probably turn out to be Paul.

And then he'd sue me for . . . I dunno what, but he'd use huge words.

'I won't tell,' Jack said in a high voice. 'Or may lightning strike us all where we sit.'

'Suze'll make a hell of a cute corpse,' Adam winked at me.

– 8 –

After that, I left CeeCee to continue researching. Or swooning over Adam, which ever came first for her. Most likely the latter. But whatever. I had things to do now.

So, these ghosts . . . they were the Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein? God, tongue-twister much? Why couldn't they just call the Misforts, or something? Short, and sweet, and illogical. Ha, like me, right?

Totally.

So, these four boys were burnt to death, were they now? In the attic?

Well, that's exactly where I was headed . . .

I made my way down the hall, and up the stairs, flashlight in hand, when I saw a very bitter looking Paul coming down the stairs. There wasn't even enough time to hide, or turn around, or jump off a cliff or anything, to avoid him.

Bummer.

He noticed me, and a smirk replaced his scowling expression. Awkwardly, I continued up the stairs, and when I tried to move straight past him, he obviously felt obligated to block my way. Continuously. I moved, he moved. Then he started going down the stairs again. Kind of forcing me to go down, too. It sounds impossible, but he managed it.

Damn it.

'Uh, hey,' I said.

'Now where would you be off to?' he asked.

'Sorry, but my mother told me not to talk to strangers,' I said to him.

He chuckled a little. 'Where's your basket of goodies, Red Riding Hood? Or your hood, for that matter.'

'Hid them in my Grandmother's house, burnt it all down, and danced around the inferno?' I suggested innocently. 'Once she was out of the house, of course.'

'Makes sense,' he said, leaning on the banister. Oh, great. He was leaning. That meant he was getting comfortable. That meant that he was getting prepared to have a conversation.

Ugh. Kill me.

As much as it was illegal to admit it, he looked kind of hot in the white top. It was all tight fitting and everything, and even though it had no brand name on it, it still must have cost a ton. Money which he was more than happy to cash over.

'What makes sense?' I asked.

'You choosing to burn this so called house,' he shrugged. 'It's what we do.'

. . . Okay . . . say whaaaaaah???

My confusion emerged on my features, for his smirk widened. 'I will not tolerate your ignorance,' he said, in a degrading impersonation of Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. It was seriously weird to see Paul trying to do character impressions off a Mike Myers movie. I mean, there's just some things that will make me go insane before my time.

That was one of them.

'Ignorance?' I said ignorantly.

He sniggered a little. 'Shifters, Suze. Didn't you know?'

WHAT WAS WITH THE CRYPTIC?!?!

I was getting annoyed, so I turned away from him, and continued up the stairs. He actually FOLLOWED, despite the fact that he'd just come from that way.

'We can control fire, Suze. It's a shamanistic ability,' he called after me.

Well, THAT made me give him the time of day.

'What?' I breathed.

Wait a minute . . . what was my problem? He was lying. Of course he was. He was messing with my head again.

Paul grinned at me. 'I can't believe you didn't know that,' he shook his head. 'You even saw me do it.'

'When?' I snapped.

'That day, in the chapel, at the Mission, with the bikers when we were attacked,' he said wryly. 'Don't you remember?'

'Oh, the day when I saved your life?'

'Yes,' he nodded. I've been meaning to talk to you about that, too . . . '

I ignored him, and frowned, remembering back then . . .

– 8 –

. . . Pissed, I staggered up again, and was about to teach Bob a never-ever-push-me-on-top-of-Paul-Slater-ever-again-you-freak lesson, but Paul said lazily, 'Don't bother.' And then, I AM SO SERIOUS, with a single look, Biker Bob just spontaneously combusted! As in, fire all over him. Like Paul had poured gasoline on him and lit a match or something . . .

– 8 –

I raised my eyebrows. 'Oh yeah, right,' I said, but I wasn't so sure of my scepticism anymore.

'I'm serious,' he nodded, coming up one step high, so he was two below mine, 'Fire is something that shamans – which includes shifters and mediators – have control over. We can generate it, redirect it, and in general, control it. Just because you haven't tried it, doesn't mean I'm wrong. And I'd know Suze, since I'm more aware of our "ability" than you ever will be.'

The way he said that . . . it was as if . . . I'd NEVER beat him . . .

So true, right?

I gave him an awkward look. I actually felt kind of dizzy . . . you know, overwhelmed. More things that I could have learnt, had I not screwed everything up. 'Er . . . I don't really have time for this now . . . ' I stammered, and ran the rest of the way up the stairs, hoping to God that he wasn't staring at my butt, or something. That would have been embarrassing.

Why did he DO that? No, not stare at my butt, I mean, drop things on my like that? Was he lying? Was this like the Soul Transference thing? Hell, was THAT even possible? Probably not.

Stupid fire thing. Wasn't real. He was just trying to get a reaction out of me. He seemed to enjoy that.

And I felt even weirder, just to think that he was playing Big Bad Wolf to my Red Riding Hood.

Scary.

Because you know how Red Riding Hood ends up.

Eaten.

. . . Erm, not that I think that Paul will EAT me. Well . . . it COULD happen, right? I mean, if he could convince himself to resuscitate me, he sure as hell could succumb to his cannibalistic urges, right?

. . . I am so damn weird.

All together now: "YES, Suze, YOU ARE SO DAMN WEIRD."

Touché.

By the time I reached the top floor, I had completely forgotten to ask Paul if he'd found Dani. It didn't look like he had, because he looked frustrated still. But I dunno.

I maintain that Dani is a skank.

End of story.

No, seriously, she's like Zoolander, isn't she? 3 percent body fat, 1 percent brain activity. Scary, huh?

Whatever. I was glad that he hadn't brought up last night. I mean, that was just damn embarrassing. Fancy me getting dragged underwater. Just my luck, right? Dumb luck. Only, my dumb luck really WAS dumb.

Whatever.

I felt so strange that I'd relayed that story to CeeCee, Adam and Jack. It was probably a really stupid thing to do, right? I mean, that was one of the most personal memories of my life, and I didn't actually expect to tell them when they asked me to. And now that I had, I was regretting it. It wasn't that I didn't trust them not to spill my secret, just . . . well, part of me WAS worried that it might accidentally slip out one day.

Which it MIGHT.

Accidentally.

One day?

Or under the influence of alcohol?

I can just SEE Paul getting Adam and CeeCee drunk, and demanding to know the truth . . . that would be SO LIKE HIM!

Ugh.

Well, on the top floor, I was walking down the hall. It had a LOT more cobwebs than the other floors, let me tell you. And the dust was plentiful, too. Mr. Head probably DID hire a maid . . . only, he probably called the wrong number and got a hooker dressed in a maid's outfit, who wanted to dominate him, when she heard his name.

. . . Again, it could happen, right?

That was when I heard a sound. I didn't know what it was. Wasn't a door . . . too loud. Maybe it was . . . no, I really didn't know. I clutched my flashlight a little harder.

Then, I knew.

I'd found Dani and Jesse.

I was standing outside the room they were in.

Oh, PLEASE. Don't make me laugh. I know what you're all thinking.

NO, Danielle Moore and Hector de Silva are NOT going the ol' horizontal tango.

. . . You sick people.

No.

It was even worse.

Danielle was asking Jesse about me . . .

Well, SUE ME for thinking that's worse, OKAY?!

I saw them both in the room. It was filled with dusty cardboard boxes – was there ANYTHING in this house that wasn't dusty?! – and the window looked so dirty, the sunshine coming through looked horribly strained. Jesse appeared to be innocently bending down and looking in a box for anything of interest. Dani was just staring at his ass.

I'm not even kidding.

She was ogling MY ex's BUTTOCKS.

Which I thought was JUST DAMN RUDE, YA KNOW?

The fact that I was eavesdropping is BESIDE the point.

So, yeah, I was just standing outside the room, peaking through the little slit between the hinges. It wasn't much to see, but I could hear perfectly.

'So,' she asked in a whiny voice, which sounded rather dusty also, like she'd spend a day screaming and was now had a very sore throat. 'How did you meet Sue?'

'Who is . . . Sue?' Jesse asked absently, unfolding the flaps of another box and pulling out things like aged shirts, and uniform ties.

'You know,' Dani said with huge eyes, 'Duh, Sue. The brunette one who's chubbier than me? Honestly, Paul said you and her had a thing and you don't even know her name – '

Yeah, that's because no one but STUPID, ANOREXIC FREAKS CALL ME SUE, YOU MORON.

AND WHAT DOES SHE KNOW ABOUT KNOWING NAMES? BET SHE CAN ONLY IDENTIFY HER ONE-NIGHT-STANDS BY THE SIZE OF THEIR –

Um . . . shoes . . .

'You are, of course, referring to Susannah, I assume?' Jesse said in a cold sounding voice. That's mah boy!

'Oh, same difference,' Dani cackled airily. 'Oh, just imagine if Paul was going to sue her. It would be suing Sue! Isn't that funny?'

. . . Wow . . . lame . . .

Jesse's laugh was positively forced. 'Yes, very funny,' he said boredly. 'These uniforms seem to date back to –'

'You didn't answer my question,' she tossed her violently red hair. Also FAKE. AND today, I noticed she was wearing contacts.

Ha! CONTACTS! They were an electric blue, a colour which the average human being can not hope to be born with. It was so phony it was almost disgusting.

OH MY GOD! SHE HAS FAKE NAILS TOO! AT LEAST MINE ARE REAL! AND I MAKE THEM LOOK VERY NICE!

I bet her mini-skirt's not even real leather.

I bet it's only . . . um – you know – 50 PERCENT LEATHER!!!

Fakes like her MAKE ME SICK.

And I'm not even BRINGING UP the implants this time . . .

Okay, so what if I am?

My God . . . I can't believe that I used to like British accents . . . she was SO ruining the WHOLE culture for me! All English people can THANK DANIELLE for me now hating your accent. Honestly, she made it sound so shrill!

Jesse looked awkwardly at the Botox Barbie. 'Susannah and I . . . we met almost six years ago. She was just sixteen. I had met my end in what was to be her bedroom.'

'You haunted her room?' Dani spluttered, 'Well, wasn't Sue a lucky thing?'

Jesse said, through gritted teeth, 'hardly. As I understand it, I ruined every date with a boy that she ever had.'

I'll say.

Dani cackled madly. 'Sue went on dates? Oh, my Lord . . . oh, I'm forgetful, this is quiet Carmel we are talking about,' she gushed.

Why . . . I . . .oughta . . .

Yo, gimme five . . . I've gotta call in a favour from the Mafia . . .

'Indeed,' Jesse went on, refolding some of the shirts, seeing that Dani clearly wasn't interested in when they dated back to, 'She was quite sought after. I saw the looks that the young men gave her in her pre-adolescent years, looks that she always seemed to miss. I even caught her step-brother eyeing her at times.'

Doc?

Wait, not Dopey –

EWWWW!!!!!!!!

TMI, TMI!! TOO MUCH INFORMATION!!!

Dani laughed nastily. 'Oh, you lie,' she scowled with a hard smile, and waggled her finger at him. It was as if someone had painted her lips on. She wasn't a pretty girl, now that I looked at her. She did not smile with her eyes.

Or perhaps it's because she's a complete and utter uber-bitch, that she looks so hideous to me.

I dunno.

Whatever. She was the supermodel, I was the unemployed freak. So I think that evens it out, no?

Sigh . . . how depressing.

'So, was she in love with you?' she probed, 'I'd imagine you were quite the ladykiller.'

Jesse's gaze snapped to Dani like quick-silver, and he growled, 'I am NOT a murderer, Danielle, do NOT confuse that with the fate that I met – '

'Oooh, no, no, no,' she said soothingly, 'I meant, you're just obviously so gorgeous.'

'Oh,' Jesse calmed down. Then he coughed clumsily, obviously kind of embarrassed. 'You – you think so?' he patted his hair a little.

Oh, please . . .

'Sure!' Dani sand, moving forward so she had moved out from the slit that I was peaking through. 'If you were alive, I'd bet you'd be on the cover of Cosmo with me.'

Oh, Dani's not vain. She's just VAIN.

Jesse didn't really understand that too well. I mean, he knew that Cosmo was "a book of some description that Susannah liked to giggle at when she'd eaten too much chocolate," but that was a long time ago . . .

It also happened to be the one that'd he'd given me that time, when he said he had me right where he wanted me . . .

But let's just forget that little bit.

Now THAT'S embarrassing.

Ugh.

'Yes,' Jesse said finally.

'Yes what?' Dani asked boredly.

'Yes,' Jesse said slowly. 'I do believe that Susannah was in love with me . . . and I with her.'

I kind of when still there.

'Oh, children can be so silly, can't they?' Dani cackled again, doing her WWW number. WWW of course, standing for Wicked Witch of the West. Honestly, this girl was a genuine bitch. Or maybe I can call her the BBB. Bogus Bitch of Britain, on account of how all her body parts seem to not be real.

Jesse was silent for a moment. 'No . . . it was real. True love, as the fairy tales acclaimed it. A beautiful, celebrated thing. Alas, Susannah loathes me now, and I do not blame her.'

I . . . I did?

Yeah. Of course I did.

Dani clicked her tongue in a way she must have thought sounded sympathetic. 'Well, she's just a stupid little girl, isn't she?' she said in a babying tone.

'No, she is not,' Jesse sighed. 'She is not. She has every right to hold me responsible for what I did. I . . . I though I was making the right choice, you know? I left her . . . I thought that I would be holding her back from living, but it was my absence that has done so. Not to mention, I thought she was in love with P – uh . . . no one . . . But I believe that I made a grave mistake.'

'Ha, grave,' Dani sniggered, 'Get it? You're dead, grave, ha – oh, sorry.'

There was another silence.

'It's not your fault, Jesse,' she said smoothly, like she thought she was charming the birds off a tree. 'If she couldn't survive without you, then I think she's a sodding loser.'

'Danielle,' Jesse said in a tone of warning, 'Do not speak of your colleague in this manner. Susannah . . . she's not grown up properly, not since she left for college. I think that she is still a seventeen year old, in many ways.'

HEY!

I had a very nasty thought here . . . what if Danielle was touching him? I mean, she'd moved closer to him, I couldn't SEE her anymore, what if she had her sickly hands on him? EWWW. How gross!

. . . I had to know.

Oh, shut up.

Carefully, I moved my feet so I was now peaking through the actual doorway a little. There, I saw –

SHE WAS TOUCHING HIM! SHE HAD BOTH HER HANDS ON HIS SHOULDERS!!!

GRRR!!! MOOO!!! BAAAH! SHOO!! JESSE DOESN'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED BY EXTRA-TERRESTRIALS, DANIELLE.

As I shifted my weight onto my right foot, a loud creak was let out.

No! Stupid floorboards!

With a gasp, I moved back hurriedly.

'What was that?' Danielle asked worriedly, 'Jesse? Can you check if it was one of those ghosts? I heard Paul saying that there may have been more than one.'

Wow . . . Paul was slow.

Goodie.

'I do not sense ghostly presence,' Jesse said calmly, 'There's nothing to be afraid of, Danielle. You may let go of my arm now . . . any time now.'

Then, I heard a very soft tingling. Huh? Had someone rattled the chandelier?

'Enjoying yourself, Susannah?' asked a deep voice from behind me.

I swear to God, I almost wet my pants. Eww, I know. I spun around with yet another sharp intake of breath. Jesse looked somewhere between amused, and accusatory.

I swallowed. 'Um, I was just – you know, dusting, because it's – you know . . . dusty?' I feebly blew at a cobweb on the wall, giving him a hopeful look.

Of course he didn't by it.

'I'd appreciate it, Susannah, that you make your presence known, as I you asked me a long time ago, to do for you. I respect your requests, I would like you to not hide from me,' he stated.

I went very red. 'Uh, I was walking by, and I didn't want to interrupt –'

Jesse smiled at me, and I looked away. 'I'm sorry,' I mumbled, 'I'll go – '

'Jesse? Is it one of the – oh, it's you,' Dani snapped, as she came bustling out of the door. She looked even skankier in full vision. Her skirt seemed miles shorter than yesterday's, and that's saying something. It was black leather, and her top was a silver halter-neck, which dipped very low, to just above her belly button.

How the hell did she hold 'em in?! CELEBRITY TAPE?!

. . . God, I hate this girl . . .

'Um, hi,' I said in a display of pure genius, 'I'm, um, dusting?'

'Oh sure, Sue.'

'Suze,' I glared, at the same time that Jesse went, 'Susannah.'

I bowed my head, my cheeks aflame.

'What are you doing here?' Dani demanded. 'Jesse and I happen to be exploring, and having a very interesting time.'

Jesse looked a little pained.

'Oh,' I said, 'Um, yeah, so I've got, um, more dusting to do – '

'You missed a spot,' Dani said idly, looking down the filthy hallways.

Bogus Bitch . . .

. . . Of Britain.

With a mortified shrug, I retreated, when Jesse called my name. 'Susannah . . . wait . . . '

I turned back to him, not meeting his eyes . . . Dani was right, I AM a loser.

'What?'

'Yes, what?' snapped Danielle in annoyance. 'You heard her, she has dusting to do. Go dust, Sue, frolic among your own kind, namely, the dirt.'

'Danielle,' Jesse said angrily, 'That's not – '

I shook my head tiredly. 'Don't bother, I'm gone,' I sighed. 'You can't hold it against her, Jesse. Supermodels are all like that. It's either that, or Tourette's. More than likely, she's just a bitch.'

So sue me? I DON'T LIKE BEING CALLED SUE.

. . . OR DIRT.

'Susannah,' Jesse then scowled at me, 'please, you're not like this – '

'How would you know what I'm like, Jesse?' I demanded. 'Just a question.'

Jesse shook his head at me, and then at Dani.

'That's it,' he said, 'I refuse to talk to either of you until you sort out your differences. I will not come if you call, you must learn to live with each other.'

Oh, THAT'S MATURE.

'Hello? News Flash? This is the girl who left me cripple in a hospital,' I informed him angrily. 'She's not exactly someone I want to be left alone with?'

'Yes, what is Sue sits on me? I'll be crushed!' Dani cried.

'I'm NOT fat!' I said in fury, 'You bul – '

'This I precisely the issue, Susannah, Danielle. You must learn what Padre refers to as, "team trust." This Supernatural Investigations Agency will crumble if you do not work together in harmony.'

. . . No, seriously, I wanna know . . . is there such thing as spectral crack?

'Jesse, look – ' I started, but with a determined glare, he dematerialized.

WELL THIS WAS JUST GREAT.

'Screw this,' Dani scoffed, and marched to the stairs. However, some sort of boundary stopped her from going down.

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better . . .

'Okay, very funny Jesse,' I rolled my eyes, 'Let the nice lady and the pig go now.'

'You're the pig,' Dani shrugged. 'You said it.'

'You're NOT nice,' I shot at her.

I couldn't believe I was in this situation. How could Jesse be so CRUEL?! I mean, honestly, who prevents a perfectly innocent girl from fleeing a certain area?

Well – you know – uh, BESIDES Paul, after he's tried to jump you.

'I'm not taking any of your crap,' I shook my head at Dani. 'He can't keep us here forever. You forget, we're ALIVE Jesse. We actually need food, and water, and un-dusty oxygen? Yeah. Because you seem to be FORGETTING THAT.'

Danielle gave me a snobby look, crossing her arms and looking more like I-Dream-Of-Genie than a supermodel. Her whole demeanour reminded me of sticky, green, bubbly, intestinal mucus. She was just so SNOTTY and ARROGANT. Jesus, WORSE than Paul Slater himself.

It was SICKENING.

'Go jump off a cliff,' she said.

'Go jump of the Empire State,' I retorted, 'You're in America now, sweetheart.'

'I'm perfectly aware, Agent Spanish Shitheart,' she replied smilingly. But I could see, in her freaky fake blue eyes, that she was bitterly loathing me as much as I was disgusted by her.

'I'm going,' I said. 'I don't care if it's not back downstairs, as long as it's away from you.'

'Yes, I can understand how being in my presence would make you feel inferior,' she cooed in mock sympathy. I so, SO wanted to deck her one with my trusty flashlight . . . but I've never exactly leant towards the violent side, when it came to the living, unless my life was in mortal peril.

But I was . . . willing to make . . . an exception . . .

Nah, I turned the other cheek. And I stalked off in the direction, opposite to the stairway where Jesse's stupid spectral barrier was.

Bah . . . if I was a better shifter, I would have SO been able to break through that . . .

But I wasn't. So stop complaining, SUE.

Gah . . . Stupid Wicked Witch . . .

I stormed down the hallway, eerily aware of how spooky this was. I mean, I was alone, apart from Danielle, who was about as useless as a quadriplegic in hopscotch. And it's not like her presence was all that comforting. Hell, she'd probably take this opportunity to off me because there was no one to see . . .

My luck, huh?

THANKS A MILLION, HECTOR.

Hell, I'd KILL him if he wasn't already dead . . .

That was when a rather distinct smell intruded my nostrils.

Smoke.

I sniffed around, expecting for there to be a raging fire somewhere close, but no. There wasn't. Only, as I was moving towards the end of the corridor more, I noticed that a lot of the walls had been mysteriously blackened.

No, strike that.

They'd been burnt . . .

My eyes fell on a charred door. It had soot all on the floor, and was black. No other door was as damaged at this one.

This was it . . .

This was the attic in which the four Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein had perished under wrath of fire. Four boys had been killed in this room . . . they'd lost their lives.

Then again, they'd also recently perved on me taking a shower, so they we're that worthy of pity.

. . . Sickos.

Frowning, I carefully grabbed the doorknob, hoping it wouldn't crumble beneath my fingers, or something. It was horribly discoloured from burns and rust. With a little effort, the door broke away from the ground, in which it had formed a nasty dark crust with. Ew . . . at times like this, I hate shifting. With the daunting possibility that you're going to get dirty, and all.

The smell here was pungent here. The stench of smoke now attacked my senses. I felt like I was breathing in second hand smoke. It was strange to think, that, after thirty years, the smell from the fire had still lingered. I looked up the short, black stairway, and saw that there was, indeed, a room above.

Wow, Suze, you're good. You managed to figure out that there was an attic where the attic should be. Juuuuust brilliant.

I'll be up there with Einstein and Edison one day, you just watch me.

Ugh.

That's me. A mighty mouse if there ever was one.

With the anxiety that the stairs would collapse beneath me, I warily made my way up them, stepping on the outer edges of the overcooked wood. Hehehe . . . overcooked . . . Ugh. Yeah, it took a few seconds longer than needed for me to get to the top, but I managed. When I finally got onto the landing, I looked out at the room that lay in front of me.

Sheesh . . . someone certainly dropped a few ciggies here.

Just a few, Suze?

Curiosity got the better of me. Instead of walking out like a good little minion, I stepped in, examining how horribly burnt everything was. Man, this fire had been a real killer. My eyes were almost tearing, the smell was so bad. Someone had obviously wetted everything after it was burnt, hence the terrible pong. There were spare beds up in here, spare burnt mattresses, sheets, more boxes, long poles which might have been gold a long time ago, a few used cans of beer – burnt – and a lot of footprints on the ground. I squatted down to get a closer look at them and concluded that there were definitely two different shoes, if not more.

These were the footsteps of four boys, as they'd been dashing around, trying to get out of this place.

A coldness swept over me. I reckoned that these boys didn't commit suicide . . . the footsteps were too panicky. Or maybe two of them were unwilling to kill themselves, and the other two were the murderers. I could only guess. All I knew was I was standing in a room where the dead had been.

Little did I know that the dead were still there . . .

'Would you look at that, boys . . . didn't I tell you that they'd send the pretty one up?' a chillingly deep voice reverberated off the charred walls.

Um . . . I think I'd found the ghosts . . .you know?

Oh, shit.

– 8 – . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Shit, indeed, Susannah.

Shit indeed.

NOW. REVIEW, OR . . . UM . . . I'll EAT YOU.

With . . . um . . . salad . . .

And, er, Cranberry Sauce . . .

Aww, shutting up.

Lolly's kind of happy. She wrote about 30 pages in one day.

Further proof that holidays are AWESOME.

And that she has no life.

Sorry Hayley! I WAS ON TOO MUCH OF A HIGH TO NOT POST, AND I DIDN'T SEE YOU ONLINE THIS MORNING!!!

Oooh . . . didn't you just loooove the Dani/Suze bitch fight? That was SO fun to write, hahaha. I think that Jesse's kind of annoyed.

You should wait to see what we've got in store for Suze, now that Jesse "refuses to come when she calls."

And also, are you starting to understand why Suze isn't to fond of our darling Jesse? I mean, he was kind of cold. Of course, he was ONLY doing it because he loved her too much, but still.

As for the pairings?

We DON'T KNOW.

Well . . . we do. But we're not saying.

Let's just say that there is an even that will earn us a LOT of flames. And another even that will earn us a LOT of nice reviews.

Not a word. Hehehe.

LOVE YOU ALL.

Lolly and Hayley (who ACED her PSATs! Come on, Hayles, don't be shy . . . smile for the nice people!)

. . . LOOOOOONG REVIEWS OR PAUL WILL SUCCUMB TO CANNIBALISTIC URGES AND EAT YOU ALL.


	14. It's All About Power

There are several different types of jokes.

There are the kind Adam tells, mostly fart jokes, which are pretty funny.

I mean, flatulence is funny.

Then there are the dirty, perverted jokes . . . the ones that are so sordid they make you blush, but you can't help but laugh at. And Dani's fire-engine red hair that looks like a clumsy Edward Scissor-Hands cut it . . . well, that's a joke too, really. Robin Williams is funny, too. And Texan people trying to pull off Australian accents is a total hoot.

Or vice-versa.  
  
And THEN, there are the jokes that are so farfetched and unrealistic and out there, that they aren't even funny. You know, those kinds that are so long and detailed that you can never tell the joke properly because you get too wrapped up in the details? And then when you finally get to the point, it's not even funny? It's like, "Um . . . okay . . . you just wasted five minutes of my life."  
  
Yeah. Well, that's what my life is. The never-ending joke. A totally UNFUNNY joke, at that.  
  
The truly horrific part . . . I'm pretty sure the punchlines could totally punch.

AND IT HURTS.  
  
I turned around slowly to face my uncertain and quite untimely doom. I was standing in the cold, dark shadow made by four boys who stood before me. And when I call them boys I mean that they were young. But despite their age, they all appeared to be in peak physical condition. You know, for a bunch of dead kids.  
  
A bunch of dead kids, who surprisingly enough, turned out to be hotties.  
  
I'm not even kidding.

THESE GUYS WERE HOT.

The lot of them had to be about eighteen, though some looked even older. They were totally guys I would have swooned over in high school if I hadn't been so devoted to Jesse. I'm sure Kelly Prescott and her gaggle of girly-girls would have eaten them up back in their day. Or now, even, if they were alive.  
  
They all seemed to be kind of diverse too. It was like looking at a four-member boy band. A boy for every girl, you know? Like, there was this good-looking one who was clean-cut and had this gorgeous mane of shiny brown hair paired with these lovely gray-blue eyes that twinkled in dark humor, even though he appeared to be clean-cut and scholarly. His small, pink lips were turned up in a sloppy-sly grin, which totally contrasted with his sharp squarish nose.  
  
Next to the gorgeous brunette was this brawny African American, who stood with his muscular arms crossed in front of his equally muscular chest. There seemed to be darkness in his manner that matched the dark color of his skin and eyes quite well, for he looked so intimidating and large compared to little ol' me.  
  
Well, he was definitely large in comparison to the next in line, who was only just an inch or so taller than me, as opposed to the other two who were about 6'3. This one reminded me of a young Heath Ledger, with his floppy blonde hair and big brown puppy-dog eyes. He looked a lot younger than the rest of the guys, especially with his sort-of round face, and he lacked arm muscles. I couldn't tell much about the rest of him since he was dressed neatly in his school uniform, which consisted of a navy blue blazer with the school's seal, a white shirt, a regulation tie, and nicely pleated khaki dress pants. His uniform looked nice and orderly, while the other boys had their shirts untucked, buttons unbuttoned, and sleeves folded. But he still looked like such a sweetie . . . like little-brother-cute.  
  
Only, the way that they were all grinning at me? Well, not so sweet.  
  
You see, I was just starting to remember that these were four eighteen-year-old boys. Well, okay, one was seventeen, (probably blondie) but still. I mean, yeah, I sure did not want to be stuck in a room with four hormonal boys who hadn't exactly gotten any for thirty years. Granted, I hadn't gotten any in my twenty-three, but . . . shut up.  
  
I blinked at them all. I was kind of incapable of doing much else, sorry. I mean . . . these guys WERE hot, okay? A nice, diverse bunch of dead hotties. Granted they were five (and six) years younger, but still. YOU try stand in a room full of hot guys, and think about their sad age.  
  
Or the fact that they possessed no pulse.  
  
'She doesn't say much, does she?' the brunette was smirking at me with sinister eyes. There was something about him that made me feel very, VERY nervous. He had a wise-guy smile, unlike Adam's happy one. This guy . . . he was dangerous.  
  
And I won't even START on the black dude. He looked plain deadly. Like brussel sprouts.  
  
'I know, huh. Cat got your tongue, sweets?' the dark-haired one asked. I forgot to mention him didn't I?  
  
I coughed a little, my blood going kind of cold. 'Oh, me? Um, uh, I'm um, here to, uh, you know, help you – '  
  
'Help us?' The dark haired one was still grinning. He was, I admit, the best looking of the lot, with his shiny black hair and sharp, chiseled features which included his pointy, dimpled chin. He had these eyes that seemed to glare at me. Like, he always looked like he was angry. But I had a very bad feeling that he wasn't so angry with this turn of events, if you know what I mean. 'How can you help us?'  
  
'I can think of a couple of ways,' chuckled the brown haired guy, letting his gaze slide down from my face. The African American one laughed this very deep, very hollow laugh. I swallowed nervously.  
  
'Um,' I said, shuffling back a little, 'Actually, I meant – '  
  
'You wanna help us?' the tall, dark haired guy stepped forward on my retreat, 'Go get your little red-headed friend too, and that's all the help WE need.'  
  
I went very red, which made them all laugh harder.  
  
'Um, actually, we're more of a . . . spiritual guidance agency?' I squeaked, 'You know, we, um, help, uh, unrested souls to . . . ' my breath caught in my throat when the dark haired one took another step closer to me, his eyes burning with a very worrying glimmer, ' . . . uh, move on?'  
  
He stopped. 'Move on? I don't think so,' he said, still grinning. 'After all this time . . . I think that this afterlife deal's about to get a whole lot better.'  
  
My eyes widened. 'Oh, um, how so?'  
  
They just chuckled at me, not even dignifying that very obvious question with a verbal answer. No, instead, the black guy and the brunette slowly moved forward a little, too, so they were, like, standing either side of me, almost. Like scavengers. Vultures. Only, they were kind of the dead ones here. I stiffened. 'Um, actually? I have to go. Would you believe that? Just when your afterlife was starting to perk up. Isn't that such a – '  
  
A large, powerful hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I jumped a little, 'Oooh, no! No touching, off! Rah!' I snapped, and slapped at it in annoyance, taking a definite sidestep away from him.  
  
'Oh, where are our manners?' The guy with the black hair shook his head in mock self-punishment. 'My name is Robin, my lady. I am an ex-attendee of this fine establishment.'  
  
The other sniggered. 'Get over yourself, Robbie,' the brunette said.  
  
'Don't mind him,' Robin murmured to me, 'That would be Nathaniel, a rather . . . complacent lad, if you will.'  
  
Nathaniel elbowed him, and again, another break of deep, masculine, adolescent laughter. I winced a little, because they were still moving closer to me. As if I wouldn't notice. Well, blondie wasn't doing much of anything, actually. Just watching and smiling.  
  
Robin scolded the other guys. 'Oh shut it, you lot, you're scaring her. We don't want to scare her . . . yet,' he added with a dark smirk.  
  
More laughter . . . the same laughter that had rung out through dark hallways . . .  
  
I looked sideways at the African American, and saw that he was smirking at me. Like all the other guys, but this guy . . . he was really scary. His eyeballs were the only lightness in his face. It was like, two white spots on a sheet of very deep brown. He reminded me of a black coffee, with two marshmallows chucked randomly in the mix. Only his eyes, too, had dark brown irises, and even darker, very large pupils. His eyes scared me. Well, that, and his obviously very large and muscular arms. It was like, if I laughed at him, he'd snap my neck without hesitation.  
  
Robin caught me staring. 'That's ol' Charles. Fine man, and if you don't mind me saying, not a person you'd want to annoy.'  
  
'Indeed,' Charles' grin broadened at me, and he took the time to very slowly crack his knuckles. I hate it when guys do that. It's kind of gross, you know?  
  
And, um, kind of creepy too . . .  
  
'Um, yeah,' I mumbled. 'Er, well, that's great, and all, but people are kind of waiting for me to come back – '  
  
'No they're not,' Nathaniel cocked his head to the left arrogantly. 'You're stuck up here . . . with the red-head. Little bonding session, I hear. Well . . . how about we go grab her too, and we can all . . . bond.'  
  
The others cracked up. 'God, you are so lame,' the blondie said to him.  
  
Nathaniel's face changed from laughing to furious at whip-crack speed. 'Shut your face, Bartie-boy.'  
  
'Bart?' I echoed dumbly.

And this was BEFORE the Simpsons, presumably. Nasty stuff.

'Oh yeah, forgot the squirt, didn't we?' Robin grinned at Nathaniel. He grabbed the blond one – Bart, I guess – by the scruff of his collar, and shoved him forward. The little guy made some struggle, but he wasn't exactly a worthy opponent for his very tall friend. 'This is Bartholomew. Not really anyone notices him. He's a little too close to the ground, you see,' Robin shrugged, and Bart glared up at him, before brushing him off and stepping back angrily.  
  
I nodded slowly. 'Uh huh. Well, um, Bart, Robin, uh, Charles, and . . . '  
  
'Nathan,' Nathaniel tossed his head a little.  
  
'Yeah . . . it's been a real pleasure. But I really have to cut this short, and – '  
  
I didn't finish my sentence, instead, turning on my heel and making a run for the stairs, but with a shower of blue light, Robin materialized in my way, standing right over me, so I almost bashed into him. My eyes met his in alarm. There was a DEFINITE animalistic flicker in his eyes. I swallowed.

So reminiscent to Cole . . .  
  
'Where you going, sweets?' he shot me a disappointed look. 'We were just getting to know you.'  
  
'I'm really, really boring,' I assured him. 'Ask anyone. They'll be glad to . . . ' he stepped forward again, so I ended up moving back, into the room again, ' . . . um, agree . . . '  
  
My throat felt dry. Like it was suddenly devoid of all saliva. I felt like I could grate cheese on it, or something, it was so parched.  
  
He kept backing me into the other guys. When I was surrounded by them again, they kind of all closed in on me. I felt seriously outnumbered. I mean, yeah, okay, one guy is hard enough to get rid of sometimes. And sure these guys weren't bikies. But I got the distinct impression that these guys were a lot smarter than a bunch of leather clad, fat men.  
  
No offense to anyone if there dad is a bikie or anything . . . but that would be just embarrassing.  
  
I felt fingers come to my hair, and again, I felt my body go really rigid. It was like, rigor mortis. Only, um, I wasn't quite dead.  
  
Yet.  
  
'Such pretty hair,' complimented Nathan slyly from behind me. I flinched as he made contact.

'So shiny,' Bart said.

'Um . . . that's very . . . perceptive,' my voice crackled. Nathan continued to run his fingers through it, until I had the sense to try and move away again.  
  
Only they weren't letting me go anywhere, I soon realized.  
  
Okay, this was not good, I tell you, NOT GOOD. I know they say you shouldn't judge people when you first meet them, but this was different. So different. Because not many people attempt to kill you before they formally introduce themselves like these boys had, you know?  
  
I had a feeling of complete deja-vu, as the guys all reached out and touched me, Nathaniel's hands still knit in my hair, while Robin had his grip on my shoulder and Charles and Bart took to clutching my arms. Squirm as I might, there was just no way out of it. There were just too many of them. And I didn't want to make them angry.  
  
'I wouldn't want to intrude on you all,' I choked. I mean, it felt like they were all holding me under that cold, dark water all over again. And this time, they weren't going to rest until the job was finished.

Until I was finished.  
  
'Oh, you won't be intruding,' said Robin in a sickly animalistic tone. 'In fact . . . you can stay as long as WE like.'  
  
Charles chuckled.

It was the same sick, twisted laughter I recognized from the dumbwaiter incident with Jack. Where Jack almost died. It was disgusting just how these boys – especially Robin – could just laugh about it. It was even more disgusting that even after all of that, Robin's dark smirk made me shiver . . . and not just because of the bad vibes.  
  
I just hate to say this, I really do, but Robin's sinister manner gave me the type of reactionary shakes that Paul gives me. Paulie shivers. You know, bad in a good way. Which is so NOT good, especially when the guys you get the shivers for are killers.  
  
Okay, FINE, so Paul hadn't tried to kill me lately, but there was totally that time he left his brother and me in Shadowland. I know, that was SO long ago, but you tend never to forget things like that. Hello, that was nearly fratricide AND murder.  
  
Oh, but I had to 'forgive' him for that. You know, because he saved my life the night before and all. But I can't forgive him for ruining my life those many years ago just because he gave me mouth-to-mouth. He took advantage of me at my weakest, most vulnerable moment. Once everything started looking up again, he crushed it all with lies and deceit. And what's worse, he made a promise to me . . . a promise he swore on his life that he meant. One he didn't keep . . .  
  
"I'm not going to leave you."  
  
He owes me a life. Especially since he took mine and killed it those years ago. And it totally won't come back, even if he does go around saving my life and saying that my eyes are pretty. UGH! It was so infuriating that I couldn't figure him out. Why couldn't he just be a normal, simple man?  
  
Why am I thinking about Paul at a time like this?

I have other fish to fry.  
  
You know.

Before they fry me?  
  
The four had me enclosed in this sort of semi-circle now. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I backed away and made a run for it to the stairs AGAIN, and this time, I ALMOST managed to escape – I mean, I was DOWN those charred stairs and everything –  
  
Until, of course, the door slammed right in my face.

Bummer.

I tried the semi-burnt doorknob, but it was locked. I turned back, trying to avoid the hungry stares coming from the lustful boys.  
  
Scanning the blackened room, I noticed that there were no windows in this attic. In fact, it was the perfect place to keep someone locked up. You know, like one of those dungeons they always glorify in the fairy tales? Dark and musty with no way out, and no one to hear you scream?  
  
Yeah. Just a little like that.  
  
'That door's always been a hassle. Don't know how many times it locked on us. I always said we should get that thing fixed.'  
  
I turned my head to glare at the blonde one, Bart. He hadn't been saying much earlier, but now that he had, he looked to his friends for approval. They all chuckled darkly, and Nathaniel even added, 'Looks like you're stuck. Luckily, you have us for company.'  
  
But when my eyes met with Bart's, he looked at me with a fleeting look of sympathy, almost as if he were apologizing to me.  
  
And suddenly, I realized, that maybe I DID have a chance for escape after all. I'd have to punch the blondie. Not literally, of course, but with a blow of guilt that would make him feel sorry for me.  
  
I feigned a pathetic frown and shifted my weight, looking at the door in an "all hope is lost" sort of way. Bart noticed my gaze and stuttered, 'Uh . . . guys, we should, um, be polite and offer her a chair or something.'  
  
Well, it wasn't unlocking the door, but it was a start. Unfortunately NOT the start I was looking for.  
  
'Um, that's okay, really–'  
  
'Again with our bad manners,' Robin piped up. Just then, a chair magically flew into my legs, and I crashed onto it haphazardly, letting out a yelp as Robin, who was standing behind, grabbed my shoulders and held me there forcefully. His fingers were like metal skewers, and if I moved, they'd pierce.  
  
He leaned down close to my ear and purred, 'There. Is that better, ma'am?'  
  
My head began to buzz, as I tried to struggle from under Robin's icy, lifeless hands. But my struggle came to no avail, especially when the other guys gathered around to watch as he moved his head from my ear to near my neck.

Like a vampire, in bloodlust . . .

My heart pounded in my chest loudly with each dangerous millimeter, until I heard a light tap on the door that caused Robin to jump away from my neck . . .  
  
'Oh, Sue? Sue, who are you talking to? Have you got schizophrenia or something?'  
  
Dani. Thank heavens she was there. Though, I'm not sure if the heavens should be thanked for sending a demon, but I was in a moment of grave desperation. They could have sent Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, for all I cared.  
  
Wait a minute. I couldn't bring Dani into this. Though she's probably the bitchiest Brit I know, I couldn't carelessly fling her into the same peril I was in, even if I did hate her guts.  
  
'Dani. Leave. Now,' I warned her calmly. Charles was glaring down at me in a dominating manner, hinting that if I made any rash moves, that I'd have to deal with him. I hoped that Dani would take the hint and leave, if not for my safety, at least for her own. Not that I cared about the Brit bimbo or anything. I just have morals, unlike her.  
  
And besides, she might take the credit for finding the ghosts. No way would I let her take the glory of it. It was MY time shine . . .  
  
. . . if I could only make it out ALIVE.  
  
'Hey, is that the other one? The redhead? Open the door!' shouted Nathan, as he rushed enthusiastically down the stairs and over to the burnt door. 'NO!' I yelled, bolting out of the chair in an attempt to prevent Dani's entrance. But Robin gripped my shoulders more tightly, so tight that I was sure he'd leave a mark. It hurt so much. lLke when you stop suddenly on the freeway and your seat belt catches you and nearly chokes you.  
  
The click of the door unlocking seemed to echo in my ears for ages. Dani rushed up the stairs, her face in a state of shock. Well, as much emotion as she could show with all the Botox. I broke free from Robin's grasp and rushed to her, grabbing her wrist, and yelling for her to run back out, but Nathan materialized in front of the door down the stairs, grinning up in a sadistic way.  
  
Oww . . .  
  
So yeah. We were stuck.  
  
This was just not cool.  
  
Very slowly, I turned around, putting on my meanest looking face that I could muster, in the situation. Dani, I noticed with disgust, was looking at all of the guys with slow, dragging looks from their feet, raking her gaze up to meet their eyes. The four Misfortunates sure noticed it, because that was when Robin stepped forward, his head tilted to the left in a way that I could only describe as hungry.  
  
Only, well, he was kind of dead, so I didn't think he was all that hungry for food, if you catch my drift.  
  
'Well, hello,' Robin nodded, a subtle grin of deep satisfaction stretched across his thin lips. I swallowed, and glared at Dani, whose eyes had been lingering on Charles' very pronounced biceps. Bah. Trust her to be ogling the goodies when the goodies wanted to kill us.  
  
Stupid supermodels . . . is that ALL they thought about?!  
  
I seriously wonder how Paul can possibly bear to date someone as shallow as Dani. And she's obviously this huge flirt. I mean, at least I was PISSED about being held captive in a room full of angry, decadent ghosts. She looked like she'd just got an invite to Johnny Depp's birthday to be held at the Playboy mansion.  
  
It was sick, I tell you. Sick.  
  
Not that Paul DESERVES to have someone who is faithful to him. I mean, come on. Please. He totally deserves to suffer the wandering eyes of Danielle Moron. I mean, Moore. But I just gave him a lot more credit. I thought he'd see through her pathetic act.  
  
Obviously not, though.  
  
Danielle gave Robin a dazzling smile. 'Oh,' she simpered, the way she'd do in her stupid high-gloss magazine photo shoots, 'So you're the ghosts that haunt this place. I never expected you all to be so . . . '  
  
'Young,' I snapped. 'Here's us expecting to find some crusty old janitor, and we get a bunch of little boys. Great. They probably still pick their noses, Dani. Come on, let's go. I'm – '  
  
'I think I made it clear that you're not leaving until I want to let you go,' Robin, who'd obviously taken offence to my nose-picking crack, glared at me. I tossed my hair. Dani was here, so I totally couldn't show that I was scared, at all. Which I kind of was. But not so much, now that she was here. Because, she's not the greatest company, but hey, at least if I run, she'll probably keep them busy for a couple of hours by telling them in detail all the things she has to wear as a model.  
  
. . . Or, um, something to keep them distracted.

Maybe pull a Julia-Stiles-10-Things-when-Heath-is-escaping-out-the-window-from-detention?  
  
Yeah.   
  
But I think that Robin was kind of angry with me. It took me a moment to realize that the thing he found most insulting was the fact that I'd called them "boys."  
  
Yeah. I came to this conclusion when he materialized RIGHT in front of me, seized me by the shoulders, and hissed, 'I am NOT a little boy. I'm more of a man than that stupid pirate and that sissy-square, with his stupid flamboyant suits – '  
  
'Hey, Paulie's suits are incredibly sexy,' Dani remarked at him. I was still glaring into the hollow gaze of Robin. Hell, I didn't even know his last name. Angrily, I twisted sharply, and slipped away from him before he could, you know, get a better grip or anything. This was something he didn't exactly approve of, because his hand shot out, and he snatched up my wrist, before flinging me across the room.

I'm so serious.

I was FLUNG.

RUDE, HUH?!  
  
I bashed into the wall. It wasn't a very painful collision, but it was still RUDE.  
  
'Hey!' I protested, 'Watch the merchandise!'  
  
I kind of shut up when Charles and Nathan took a definite step towards me, looking more like bouncers than school kids.  
  
Honestly. Of all the possible ghosts, we had to get four arrogant, hormonal ass wipes. My luck, huh?  
  
I took a deep breath, mainly for patience, and said, 'Look. We're here to help you. You aren't supposed to be here. You're supposed to all be . . . I dunno, strumming on a golden harp in heaven, or shoveling burning hot coals in hell, or something. I don't know. But you're not meant to stay in this school. I know that. So if you don't decide to move on pretty soon, I'll make you move on.'  
  
Robin stopped looking at Danielle, and he turned to give me a very amused look. It occurred to me that I should only try to be intimidating when I am NOT feeling intimidated myself. Yeah. That would be handy.  
  
'Oh?' he said softly, crossing his arms. Everything was so dark in the room. Ash, everywhere . . . a room of death and destruction . . . 'you? YOU will make us move on?'  
  
I shrugged nervously. 'Um . . . well . . . pretty much, I meant . . . you know, with my friends and . . . '  
  
His grin was getting broader, and I felt my face heat up. My GOD, this SUCKED. I did NOT like feeling intimidated. It was just NOT working with me. These were a bunch of KIDS. Why the HELL was I feeling freaked?  
  
Oh, I can think of eight reasons.  
  
Yeah. Their collective fists.  
  
Dani wasn't doing all that much to help, either. She seemed to be finding all of this kind of funny. Well, either that, or she obviously liked to watch me squirm. Because I was totally up with the squirmage there.   
  
Well, what she did next proved that she was a total skank.  
  
She sidled up to Robin, and put her hand on his shoulder very slowly, so she kind of grazed her fingernails up his arm first. Robin shot her a very curious look before his angriness evaporated, and he grinned at her cunningly.  
  
'Well, finally, someone wants to play,' he growled at her, turning to face her and placing both his hands on her hips. I watched, appalled. I was totally for walking, RIGHT there and then, if Dani wanted to have an orgy with them, as she was obviously indicating. But still, there was the chance that with me gone, they WOULD do something dangerous.   
  
'Dani, what are you doing?' I demanded heatedly.  
  
She gave me a lazy look. 'Isn't it obvious Sue? We evidently aren't getting out of this sodding room, if we don't behave.'  
  
'Behave?!' I echoed in indignation, 'I think that's one thing about you that needs WORK. Because you're obviously not very good at keeping your tongue to yourself,' I added angrily. 'I'm thinking that you don't even WANT to leave.'  
  
'Like you do,' she scoffed, as Robin's hands her roaming up her back. She looked like she was used to it, too. As if models got felt up daily, or something. Which was seriously gross. 'It's not like anyone else would give you this type of attention, Sue. I bet you'd just love it if one of these guys grabbed you and started to– '  
  
'Shut up!' I yelled, my voice high. 'Get away from him! YOU'RE the one here who's seeing someone, Dani, and you're not exactly being as committed as he'd like.'  
  
'He'd understand,' Dani said simply, 'That I'm getting myself out of danger.'  
  
. . . Supermodel logic is WEIRD.  
  
I shook my head at her in disbelief.  
  
'Oh,' I said scornfully. 'Right. In that case, Robin, is it? Danielle here would just LOVE to stay and entertain you some more. So I'm free to go, right? Yep? Oh, that's nice, see ya – '  
  
I spun furiously away from the pair of them, when Nathan's hand grabbed my upper arm. I tried shaking him off, but Charles came on my other side.  
  
'HEY!' I objected, 'I have BETTER things to do than watch – '  
  
'There's only one of her,' Nathan said, 'and four of us.'  
  
WHAT WAS THE PROBLEM WITH THAT??? Robin gets to kiss her brains out, Charles and Nathan get a Jumbo boob each, and Bart can . . . I dunno, PAINT HER NAILS OR SOMETHING.

I chose not to voice this, for fear of sounding very crude. And crude is rude, especially in front of a few dudes that look like they're ready to strangle you with one hand. And the other hand, I guess, they could use to fondle Dani with. Multi-tasking . . . ghosts were good at that.

Speaking of ghosts, I think it's safe to say that this is JESSE'S fault. I mean, sure he wasn't the one that PUSHED me into the room full of sex-crazed boys, but he left Dani and me in a totally vulnerable position. And you know what's terrible? He wasn't even answering my calls. Not a single one. Not even the classic "Jesse, get your ghostly ass over here or else you won't have one very soon".

I swallowed.

Hard.

'Well, there are still not enough of us to go around,' I reasoned, 'because Dani and I make two, and there are four of you, as Nathaniel wisely pointed out. So that means there'd be two guys per girl–'

Nathan advanced on me, backing me into one of the burnt walls, and I got the message that that was the whole point. I noticed his proximity was now so close that I could feel his excited ghostly breath on my cheek.

I glanced nervously at Dani, who had the rest of the guys crowded around her, even the quiet blonde one, who seemed a little less quiet now in the company of Miss Balloon Boobs. I heard Bart ask, in a sort of nervous chatter, 'Are you really a model? I mean, I can tell you are and all, it's just–'

I got so distracted by Nathan, who tipped my head towards him, that I couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. But I'm sure Dani absorbed all the extra attention like a sponge. But me? I just wanted to be left alone. In fact, I'd rather be in the library scourging through a bunch of out-dated books. I'm not up with the sponge-action.

'So much for the two-on-one rule, huh?' I asked Nathan, my voice gaining a squeaky quality I hardly recognized as my own. Nathan smirked down at me and replied, 'More for me, then . . . '

And with that, he pulled me aggressively into him by the belt loops of my jeans. I squeaked in objection, but Nathan ignored and stared impatiently into my eyes with his own gray-blues, which seemed to gleam darkly at me. The looked pretty alive for someone who died about thirty years ago.

My body tensed against his. I felt hot . . . very hot, and dizzy for some reason.

But that was when he KISSED ME.

I'm so serious.

AN EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD KISSED ME.

I WAS LIKE . . . A PEDO, OR SOMETHING.

Right as Nathan's lips closed over mine, I closed my eyes in a sort of dazed stupor. It was the instantaneous reaction to my reception of a kiss. I'm SORRY. But that's how it was. It's like, "Oooh . . . some guy has bothered to come into contact with me . . . HANG ON!"

You know?

Suddenly realizing that this was NOT good, I pushed him away and squeaked, 'EW! Get away!' like he had cooties or something.

Nathan looked at me, puzzled. And yet, you know, not. In fact, he was still looking pretty haughty. 'What, dollface? Am I doing anything wrong?'

'No–' I responded automatically, 'I mean, YES. Yes, you are doing something wrong. You're kissing me. If you haven't noticed, I'm about 5 years your senior. Meaning I'm older. And this,' I said as I looked downward, 'would probably land me in jail in ten seconds flat if you weren't –'

'Dead?' Nathan offered.

'Well, yeah.'

'But I AM dead.'

Well, he had valid point there. I couldn't think of anything intelligent to reply with, so I just stared dumbly at him.

'And since I'm dead,' he added, with a developing grin, 'then this wouldn't be illegal.' With that, he planted a small, arsenic kiss on my lips. 'Or this,' he said, moving towards my neck, tickling me with his lips.

Oh God . . .

And that's when it happened.

I snapped like a twig.

I was sick and tired of being the wimp, the weakling, the loser. I wanted to be like the old Susannah Simon: young, energetic, and kick-ass.

This kid wasn't Cole Kennedy. I knew I could kick his ass in less than twenty seconds. Why hadn't I kicked his ghostly ass to Uranus the moment he first tried to advance on me? Psychologically speaking, it must have something to do with the fact that I let Cole take advantage of me so many times that now I felt weak in the presence of all men. Which, sadly, was true. Around Paul, I was a loser; I was a speck of lint on his high-class business suits. And Jesse . . . words just can't explain how he made me feel. Imperfect, unholy, not good enough . . .

And now four new men to try to get the better of me? I think NOT.

This was the first and LAST time I would ever let a man – ANY man – push me around, whether it be emotionally OR physically.

I am woman. HEAR ME ROAR, God dammit!

. . . Meow.

'You know, Nathaniel,' I said, my strength suddenly returning, 'what you're doing isn't very Christian. Then again, neither is THIS.'

With that, I grabbed him by his uniform tie and tossed him into the wall face first. He fell into a disorderly pile on the ground, groaning and moaning like a five year old who'd stacked his bike. I clapped my hands together and stood, looking down at him victoriously.

Who's still got it?

'Feisty,' Robin commented from behind. I twirled around to notice that he was no longer joined at the hip with Dani. In fact, he had walked away from Danielle just to commend me for taking down his friend. Dani sent an envious glare in my direction, but with a snap of her bony fingers, Charles and Bart came to her side almost immediately.

'You're volunteering to be next, then?' I asked, sizing him up. I had to admit Robin would be a tougher opponent, considering the height advantage. And, you know he's got more muscle mass. But I had the one thing I'm sure those boys lacked: feminine intuition mixed in with agility. So, HAH!

Shut up.

Mom says I'm cool.

Robin didn't answer verbally. Instead, he grabbed me by the wrist and twisted it so hard, I felt that with one wrong movement, my wrist might snap in half. I bit my tongue to stifle any moans of pain that wanted to escape my mouth.

You know how I used to complain about Paul's iron-grip? And how incredibly strong and restricting it was? Yeah, well, his iron grip was, like, malleable aluminum in comparison to Robin's lethal grasp. And at least with Paul, I knew that my pieces of me would still be in tact. I wasn't so sure with Robin, however, judging by the deadly twinkle in his eyes.

Holy shit. He was going to rip my arm off. And he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

What a BITCH.

I remembered that my fate was not sealed. If I could take Nathan, then I could SO take Robbie. I mean, they were the same height and all. What's a few more pounds of muscle mass, right?

He'd only had me by the wrist. I mean, my legs, and – of course – knees were totally free. Free enough to knee him in the stomach and watch him roll over right next to his other incapacitated friend.

So I did.

Meh.

Piece of piss.

Suze: 2, Misforts: 0

I glanced over my shoulder at Dani, whose fake lightning blue eyes flashed in shock as she looked almost mournfully at the two men at my feet. Not, of course, because they were begging for my attention or whatnot. They were at my feet groaning, BEGGING for mercy . . .

Okay, so I exaggerated. But it did take them a little time to recover. Enough time for me to grab Dani and make a run for it down the stairs and out the attic door.

We almost made it, too. That is, until all six-feet-four of muscly Charles materialized right in front of us, blocking us from getting too far down the hallway. If I hadn't have stopped, I quite possibly could have bowled him over or something with Miss Inflate-O-Boobs, but I don't think I could get my momentum back, unless I ran back to the exit of the attic and ran right into him.

Which would not have been so wise considering Bart, Nathan, and Robin were back GUARDING THE ATTIC DOOR.

And now they were closing in, like those walls in adventure movies with the spikes on them, where the hero has to find a way to either turn the walls off or a way to climb out. Only, there probably weren't any ways to turn these boys off. And just because I'm supposedly some super-shifter, doesn't mean I suddenly possessed these weird Spiderman powers like climbing on walls.

'Oh, Sue . . . '

Dani grabbed my arm so tightly that her long, acrylic nails were digging into my skin. And that's when I figured out that we were screwed. Because super-duper model Danielle Moore didn't even know of a way to get out of this jam.

What happened to Dani's feminine charm? She could have used that to manipulate them to leave us alone. Or it could make them run away screaming or whatever!

But NO, she chooses NOW to stop being so egotistical, vain, and flirtatious.

Great timing, Dani. Perfect.

By then, the guys had already had us cornered, nowhere to run or hide. They were crowded around like hungry vultures on fresh dead prey.

About to be VERY fresh, if you know what I mean.

Charles, taking a menacing step closer, said in a voice I could only assign as murderous, 'You'll pay.'

'Um, check please?' I giggled nervously, my tough act slowly fading. Obviously, Charles didn't have such a great sense of humor. I mean, he didn't even laugh at my joke. Instead, he grabbed my neck with his tendony hand and held me in the air.

'Sue! You're encouraging him!' Dani shrieked from below. I couldn't really respond because, you know, the whole choking issue. I struggled, trying to find a way to get a kick in or something, but he held me out pretty far away from him.

It was, like, Darth Vader's Jedi death grip only Charles wasn't, you know, a Jedi. Nor did he breathe funny, because he actually didn't breathe at all.

Dead people ruin all metaphors, don't they?

And, um, my breathing pattern, which wasn't looking so good. My face was heating up as blood rushed to my face in an attempt to force a breath.

'Oh, my, put her down! I know she must weigh a ton,' Dani yelled, tugging at me. Before I could manage to gasp a retort, the other Misforts pushed her aside, wanting to witness what I could only assume would be my execution.

The boys chanted something over and over, but I couldn't tell what it was because the words kept swimming around my ears but not into them. I was so dizzy from the buzzing in my mind, that the room around me began to turn darker and darker, and it almost seemed to spin from the lack of . . .

Air . . . life. Exactly what the Misforts were deprived of. Something they wanted me to lose, just as they had somehow lost theirs thirty years ago. Life for their lives . . .

I could only think that it wasn't fair that I had to be the one to die. I hadn't done anything to them except beat up Nathan and Robin. Big deal. They were able to recover because they're GHOSTS.

There is no ghost story without bitterness. However these boys had died, they weren't too happy about it, and now they were taking it out on me. Little ol' me.

Adrenaline was pumping through my body, making my head throb. In one last burst of energy, I was able to croak as loudly as possible, 'JESSE!'

Don't ask me why. Must have been a reflex or something.

And, on cue, I could spot a blue shimmer from the corner of my eye. I felt sudden relief, because I could finally breathe again.

'What is it, Susannah?' Jesse asked impatiently, crossing his muscular arms in front of the billowy part of his shirt. 'You've been calling me unceasingly since I left you and Danielle here.'

'I found them, Jesse! I found them! And they totally tried to take me on and–'

'Found who?'

'The ghosts, Jesse,' I replied anxiously, tugging a little on his shirt. 'They're right–'

I looked around for a moment and realized something. They were gone. They just up and left when Jesse materialized. My hands instinctively went to my neck, to feel for Charles' ghostly hands, which had disappeared. That's why I could breathe again.

Those freaking cowards!

Jesse tapped his foot in an impatient, demanding way, waiting for an explanation. Dani was of no help, especially since she was too busy tossing her hair and blinking her false eyelashes at Mr. DeSexy.

'T-they were here a minute ago! One of them had me by the neck –' I shoved back my hair and pointed at my neck for proof, 'right there. They left right when you came, honest to God, Jesse.'

Jesse looked a little skeptical. 'Are you sure, Susannah? You really saw them?'

'God, Jesse,' I sighed, 'I wouldn't lie about something like that. Of course I saw them. Dani did too, didn't you?'

Dani looked longingly at Jesse and replied with a dreamy, 'Mmm, hmm. They were really something. But they are not as strong or as handsome as you, Jesse. You make them look like a bunch of small children.'

Funny. Dani was just admitting that she had flirted with a bunch of kids only a few minutes ago. I never knew Danielle was into pedophilia. You so couldn't tell by her previous boyfriend before Paul, a rich 56-year-old movie director. I had seen it all over the tabloids and their breakup was over-televised on ET.

Entertainment Tonight, I mean.

Not, um, Steven Spielberg's movie, or anything.

As if.

It was really weird how her relationship with Paul hadn't made it in the news. I so would have recognized Paul's dashing face on the cover of Enquirer, and known all about it before. But I hadn't seen any gracing the front cover among J-Lo's fifth marriage coverage or Britney's latest boob-job.

Now that I think of it, I could probably snap a few photos of Paul with Dani and sell them to the paparazzi for a hefty price. And the sad part is, I'd get the money a heck of a lot quicker than I was earning it in the SIA.

Their relationship, as far as I knew, was a pretty big secret. Or maybe no one cared, because Paul's just an intern at a law firm. Hello, what's a half-lawyer in comparison to a big-shot director?

That could be the one pin that would deflate Paul's ego right there. Well, that AND his girlfriend freely flirts with anything with a penis, be it dead or alive, young or old.

Pop.

Haha. I wonder if she'd flirt with Max, the Ackerman's dog?

Oh wait.

He got neutered.

My bad.

Hang on. I just realized something.

JESSE JUST ABOUT LEFT ME TO DIE. I COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED.

WHAT A DICKHEAD.

I was SO going to let rip.

And no . . . ew . . . not fart . . .

My demeanour transformed like lightning. First, I was recovering from having nearly been choked to death, again. (What? I get it all the time. These ghosts are always up to that kind of stuff.) And then, I just totally realized how disgustingly irresponsible Jesse had just been.

'DO YOU REALIZE THAT I WAS ALMOST STRANGLED, AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN CARE?!' I exploded at him, giving him an almighty shove back. He stumbled in great surprize, looking baffled at my wild outburst.

'Susannah, I do not – '

'THEY WERE GOING TO KILL ME. OR IS THAT NOT AN ISSUE ANYMORE?' I yodeled. 'THAT'S RIGHT. YOU STOPPED CARING. MY BAAAAAAD.'

I was totally screaming. It was probably kind of scary for him. And for Dani. Then again, who gave a shit about Dani? And I wasn't being totally serious about this whole "yelling" thing. But it was good to actually yell at him like this, so this reason was welcome. God knows, he needed to get yelled at.

That, and more. But yelling was all I was capable of, and all I would bring myself to do, where Jesse was concerned.

God, I would not get all immature, and exorcise him, or something totally gay like that. I'm not a freak. Well, I am. But that's just below the belt. TOTALLY not playing by the rules. It doesn't work that way. Well, you know. Definitely not with Jesse, no matter what's happened in the past.

'I – I did not realize that – '

'You thought you'd be all smart, and try to shove me and Dani into a nice bonding session, did you? Well, guess what, HECTOR? It kind of backfired. Of course, I think that Dani's opinions are different to mine. I think that she rather enjoyed her little episode of sexual harassment with her assigned jailbait,' I snapped viciously. 'But I TOTALLY do NOT appreciate being locked in a secluded area, when there are FOUR EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD BOYS WHO HAVE NOT HAD SEX FOR THIRTY YEARS, YOU . . . YOU MANIAC.'

Which made me think, very briefly, of Jesse's situation.

One hundred and fifty years.

Jesus . . . the guy is a freak.

Maybe he was planning on being a monk.

BUT . . . SINCE WHEN DID MONKS KISS LIKE THAT?!?!?!

Ugh.

This wasn't cool. No, no, no.

Jesse's eyes were wide. He looked pretty ashamed. GOOD. HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN. 'I – that was foolish trickery on my part,' he said quickly, 'I was not under the impression that these ghosts resided in this section of the house, but in the other – '

'Great mistake,' I said bitchily. 'Really. I mean, not that you really care if I suddenly get offed. Ha.'

Of course he does . . . why was I being such a brat?

Jesse looked really pained. I mean, he knew that he'd just been a total idiot, but I was totally rubbing it in. So THERE. He DESERVED to feel like crap. God knows, I knew the feeling well enough.

Dani was kind of silent through this whole think. She was watching, and observing, looking flirtatious, still, as if her work was never done. I swear to God, if she didn't stop looking at Jesse's top, (where it spilt) I would PERSONALLY dig her GRAVE and TOSS HER IN THERE.

But no pressure.

Now, I was totally for storming out of there, and all. But you know, there was now the issue that, if I went anywhere, totally alone, I would probably be dead before you could say, 'Dani's a skank.' Which was now, really REALLY annoying.

Seriously. That rule that Father Dom came up with? I couldn't ignore it now! I mean, I could, but that would have been pretty darn stupid. Honestly. These ghosts were MEAN. And kind of horny, too. Which was even grosser.

God, if they wanted it so bad, why couldn't they have just all turned homosexual? Would have solved a lot of their problems. But OH NO. They had to wait thirty years to build up this urge, waiting for women to enter their domain, before they suddenly realized, that, oh yeah, they hadn't been laid in a while.

Well, a word of the wise to them. Just a general thing, if you want to nail a girl, you do NOT start off with homicide attempts.

Freaks.

But anyway. With a furious glare at Jesse, who was looking more and more guilty by the second, now that he knew he'd almost left me to die at the hands of four long dead brats, I crossed my arms huffily. 'Can we leave now?'

Dani raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. 'You can go,' she said shortly.

'Um, I'd much prefer to live, thanks,' I said snootily. 'Jesse? Would it pain you deeply to escort me downstairs? Because, from what I saw, Dani can handle herself. She has this total defence mechanism. Her weapon of choice, being, of course, her lips.'

Dani gave a quick, alarming cackle. 'Ha, ha, ha, very funny, Sue,' she brushed me off, before sidling up to Jesse, with the steady click of her heals. Jesus . . . she was almost as tall as HIM. 'Come on, let's go.'

She tugged him towards the descending stairs. Jesse was looking at me with silent apology. 'Come, Susannah.'

I went, of course. But I still shot him livid glares. Honestly, he thought he'd been so clever, secluding Dani and I so we'd be forced to make friends.

Yeah.

That works if you DON'T lock us in an area with murderous ghosts, you know?

Just for the reference.

As soon as we were out of that damned attic, I began to appreciate what ash-less air was like. Mind you, the hallway WAS dusty. But at least it didn't still smell like smoke. Dani was still strutting next to Jesse, owning the world, and Jesse was walking with a lingering trait, as if he was half waiting for me to catch up, and half leading the way.

I didn't catch up. I stayed behind. If Jesse wanted to play walkies with Dani, I didn't care. God, I hope he SUFFERED.

It was infuriating. Him and Dani both looked so glamorous. Dani, in her sparkly silver halter top, and Jesse, in his cowboy made-for-Wild-Western-TV shirt were like, these Greek god and goddess. It was SO annoying. Dani had this walk that only came from modeling. Seriously. Halle Berry walks like that too. Her butt was making me sea-sick.

Left, right, left right . . .

Ugh.

And Jesse, well, he was always gorgeous. We all knew it. With looks that could break hearts, he had the confidence that a gentleman of the 1850s would have. He stood tall, he had respect for women, he smiled, he was polite, and he knew how to charm.

Oh yeah. Then there was me.

Third wheel.

Lame, Adidas clad me.

Well, um, how about I go drown myself, so you two can have some, um, privacy?

Oh, wait.

I already did that.

But oh darn, Dani, your boyfriend went and brought me back to life.

Isn't he such a silly thing?

. . . Makes you wonder if Paul even told Dani about all of that. I mean, seriously. I had a feeling that Paul knew his girlfriend was this complete flirt. He was probably used to that. But how would DANI feel if she knew that Paul had saved my life? I mean, it's not exactly FLIRTING, but still, it was doing something NICE to someone she HATED.

I mean, knowing Dani, she would have probably let me sink to the bottom of Lake Fortunaschwein.

If that was what it was even called.

Ugh.

I didn't get it. I really didn't.

When we got back down to civilization, aka, CeeCee and Adam, who were both in the kitchen, casually kissing, I slumped into a chair while Dani probably went off to find Paul or something, and Jesse dematerialized with a curt nod.

'Hey,' I said to the pashing pair. Seriously, they were going way at it. CeeCee totally had her arms wrapped around his neck, while Adam had his fingers knit in CeeCee's fine white hair.

CeeCee murmured, giggled, and slid her hand from Adam's neck, then said, 'Adam . . . stop it now – ah!'

. . . Ugh. He'd gone for the neck. He knew his stuff, obviously.

I raised my eyebrows. 'Would you two stop sucking face for a second?' I said with bored humour.

CeeCee wrenched away from Adam, giggling again. It was kind of weird. CeeCee giggling, I mean. She didn't used to giggle. Laugh, yes. Her laugh was all horse-like, and everything. It was my comfort zone. But her giggling, that was new territory for me.

But I was happy that Adam was obviously giggle-worthy to her. Really happy.

'Now, what was so important that you had to pull me away from my CeeCee's sugar lips?' Adam demanded.

'Whoa . . . corny,' I remarked.

'Shut up,' he blushed.

Adam embarrassed? That was a new development, coming from the guy who openly belches at the dinner table.

I guess things change . . . people change.

'Hmm?' CeeCee asked, as Adam grinned at her, smoothing her pure white hair affectionately.

I savoured the look of raw love in his eyes for a fleeting moment, before announcing, 'I think we found our ghosts.'

CeeCee's violets widened. 'Oooh! Really? What are they like? Are they nice? Were they – '

'They're dangerous,' I revealed. 'I almost got strangled to death, thanks to Jesse.'

'Jesse strangled you?' Adam asked in stupification.

'No, the ghost,' I said.

'Jesse's not a ghost anymore?'

'Of course he is. I meant, the other one.'

'What other one?' CeeCee asked.

'The one haunting this school,' I said.

'What's Jesse have to do with it?'

'JESSE'S WORKING FOR THEM, ISN'T HE!!!' cried Adam, jerking away from CeeCee and looking accusatory. 'I KNEW IT! He may not be a dirty card player, but he's the dirty culprit, idn't he?'

'Um,' I said, 'No.'

'Oh. Just a guess.'

'He did kind of hold me and Dani prisoner in the attic area, in an effort to make us befriend one another,' I said in disgust, 'And these charming ghosts accosted us. It's those four ghosts we just read about this morning, Cee. The ones who died in the fire.'

CeeCee's face lit up. 'Oooh!' she said with glee.

'Um, that's not a good thing,' I mentioned. 'They're pretty pissed off. Burning to death is not the most pleasant way to die. As they seemed to express today when they attempted to cut off my airways.'

'Poor Suze,' Adam shook his head solemnly. 'Everyone's out to murder you.'

'But I thought they committed suicide,' CeeCee said, cocking her head to the side while ignoring Adam's comment

'Maybe,' I replied, 'but I highly doubt it.'

'You should get a license to kill or something, like James Bond only, you know, without the Golden Gun,' Adam suggested.

'They're already dead,' I said.

'Oh yeah.'

This conversation wasn't going anywhere. 'Okay, look. CeeCee, I need you to do some more investigation, okay? I found out the first names of our Misfortunates – '

'Huh?' Adam looked confused.

I reddened. 'Er . . . that's what the newspaper called them.' Adam nodded slowly. 'Anyway,' I continued, 'Their names were Robin, Nathaniel, Charles, and Bart.'

'No Homer?' Adam said mournfully. I gave him a sarcastic look.

'But yeah. Bart is a year younger than the other three, I think. And Charles is a black guy. So yeah, if there are any records of the students, just remember those things. Can I leave you with that?' I asked quickly, putting my hands on my hips.

'Sure,' Cee said.

'Can we go back to kissing now?' Adam demanded, sending CeeCee a pleading pouty-lips-look.

I grinned. Typical. 'Whatever. Knock yourselves out. Just remember all of those talks they gave us about safe sex, okay Cee?' I snickered, and CeeCee gave me a beautiful smile, before looking at Adam with starry eyes, and began making-out with him again.

A wonderful sight, at the same time as kind of disgusting. No one wants to see their best friends get full-frontal with each other. Albeit, I'd rather see them get hot-and-heavy than Paul and Dani. Or Dani with Jesse and the Misfortunates. Hell, I'd rather see Spike, the cat, and Max, the dog, get it on than Dani and Paul.

Um . . . ew.

CeeCee's albinism was very stark, against Adam's blotchy complexion. Her pinky white skin and hair showed up even more, with her fuchsia top and black capris. Seriously. You would not want to lose a naked CeeCee Webb in a snowstorm. You'd never see her again.

Whoa . . . random, much? As I wandered up the stairs, I couldn't help but wonder just how Jack managed to stay somewhat innocent through this whole thing. I mean, when he's not being dropped down dumbwaiters, he's forced to look at couples constantly going at it, practically in front of him. He barely seemed aware of it. But still, this was probably not the place for a young impressionable teenager. Who knows what kind of ideas he'd get in this sort of adult-party atmosphere?

I figured maybe Jack – and, admittedly, myself – could just break away from it all and go do something good and wholesome. Hey, I was bored. And besides, it was a beautiful day outside . . . better than staying inside and possibly getting attacked by the Misfortunates again.

Common sense, folks. Please.

Jack was, like, my only friend in the house. And that was only when Paul wasn't around. I'd totally make sure Paul wasn't around when I asked Jack to go with me. I didn't care where. Just out and away. We could go hot-air-ballooning for all I cared.

Somewhere over the rainbow . . .

I breezed by the rooms in the hallway on the first floor, doing a quick one-second scan for any signs of little Jack. Something caught my eyes in one of the rooms mid-scan, so I back-tracked and noticed that it was only Paul standing in front of the mirror.

Paul.

Without a shirt on.

Yes.

Shirt-less.

Paul had no shirt on.

His chest was NAKED.

And yeah. What was he doing?

Lifting weights.

Yes.

I AM NOT KIDDING.

Paul didn't know I was there at first, but before I could duck out and pretend I never saw him, he caught my reflection in the mirror. He turned over his shoulder and threw me a grin of acknowledgement and went back to lifting weights facing the mirror.

'Um,' I said lamely, feeling my face heat up a bit.

Um?

UM?!?!?!

I noticed that my face in the reflection of the mirror appeared to be a little red, like I had just gotten a sunburn or something. I hoped that Paul would get that impression. But judging by the satisfied smirk on his face as he continued to watch himself lift weights, he didn't seem to pick that up.

Maybe he should legally change his name to Narcissus or something.

But I seriously don't think you understand how bad this was.

HE WASN'T WEAKING A SHIRT!

ER, HELLO?!

'Hi,' Paul said, never taking his eyes off his reflection in front of him. 'What brings you here? Any new developments?'

NEW DEVELOPMENTS???

I should have told Paul about the Misforts. Ugh. Misfortunates is too long a word. They are OFFICIALLY the Misforts. So there. But yeah, I mean, he had a right to know and everything considering he WAS my co-worker and all. But a certain pride fenced me in, and I could just not allow myself to gush about my close encounter.

AND HE DIDN'T NEED TO HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO BE PROUD ABOUT. I THINK HE WAS DEMONSTRATING A VERY GOOD REASON OF WHY HE WAS SO COCKY.

Not like . . . ACTUAL cocky.

Um . . .

YOU KNOW!!!

So, basically, the ghosts were the last things on my mind then. Paul's weight lifting was a little distracting, after all.

Okay . . . very.

Sue me.

Or, um, Paul for indecent exposure.

Ugh.

'Nothing that you'd abs – olutely need to know,' I squeaked, wishing that the creaky floorboards under my feet would eat me up or something. 'I just, um, wanted to find Jack.'

Paul grinned at himself in the mirror. 'Next room over. But you won't find him there. He might be out with the Lone Ranger.'

'Lone Ranger, eh? That's a new one.'

Okay, this was way awkward. I mean, sure I've seen Paul without a shirt. Hell, previous night. But it was kind of dark outside then, so his rippled muscles were barely visible. Moonlight, and all. And plus, it was like, only for a few seconds before I nearly drowned. But now, they were in clear daylight, in all of their glistening glory.

This was bad.

BAD, BAD, BAD.

Paul went to the corner of the room and bent down to put the weights down next to the bed in the corner, and while glancing at me again, he moved back to his spot in the mirror and flexed.

I'm so serious.

FLEXED.

Mr MY-MUSCLES-ARE-SO-PERFECT-YOU-COULD-POKE-THEM-AND-THEY-WOULDN'T-WOBBLE, FLEXED HIS MUSCLES.

For the LOVE of GOD!

When his gaze fell back on me, in the mirror, he sighed and turned around, saying slowly, 'That means, Suze, that Jack isn't here right now.'

'Er, I knew that,' I said quickly, taking the hint.

I tried to move away from the doorway that I had now been leaning on, but I wouldn't budge for some reason.

Paul threw me another look; something unknown combined with a hint of annoyance, and rummaged through his dresser for a shirt. He plucked a gray wife-beater shirt that went pretty well with his black workout pants, and pulled it on over his head.

Gulp.

I don't know why I stood there for so long, not doing anything. It was one of the single most embarrassing moments of my life. Seriously. It was like, "Stop looking at my abs," to, "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!!"

I mean, I could have run away screaming or something. Or perhaps left the room like a decent, normal human being who is not a freak that likes to stare at people's abdominal muscles.

But you should have seen them. He looked like one of those guys in magazine centerfolds for Cosmo or something that wear nothing but those loose-fitting pants that hang ever so loosely along their waist, that you notice that if those pants were only a little lower then . . .

WHAT AM I THINKING?!

Was I intentionally violating Paul IN MY MIND? That would be so . . . so perverse and so WRONG. And even though he had put on a shirt, I couldn't help but continue to visualize him without it. Like I WANTED it off or something. Only I didn't. I SO did not.

SHUT UP!!

I DID NOT, OKAY?!?!

Okay, fine. My thoughts of Paul right then were anything but chaste. In fact, I'm so embarrassed about thinking them, that I choose not to share them at this current moment. They're too, you know, mortifying. And a little, um, nasty, but like I said, I do NOT wish to go into that.

I muttered a hasty apology and started out the door, until Paul stopped me by offering, 'You can stay if you want. I'm no Jack, but I'm the closest thing, genetically speaking.' He gave me a grin, to which my face reacted with a violent blush.

'But morally speaking, you're the furthest thing. Bye,' I mumbled, and went to waddle out, penguin style.

I was almost out too, until Paul stopped me yet again.

'Aw, come on. Stick around for awhile. No harm done.'

I sniffed indignantly. 'Yeah. Right.'

'Just look at me, Suze,' Paul said as he lifted up his arms and flexed his large biceps, 'and tell me how you could pass up an offer such as this?'

DON'T PASS IT UP. OOOOH. YUM. COME TO MOMMA!!!

'Easily,' I retorted. YOU LIAR!!! 'See ya.'

WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, SUZE?!

So gorgeous . . . so perfect looking . . .

And yet he was so full of himself.

That was what turned Paul from sizzling pot of sexy-stew to . . . you know . . . um, not so much. Boy, I'm lame.

No. I think that lame is a gross understatement for what I am.

I am pathetic.

I am SCUM.

And . . . Paul is totally hot.

YES. Okay?! I've SAID IT. It's WRITTEN. It's in PRINT. Seriously. If Paul was on a contract, he'd be the DAMN FINE PRINT.

. . . Whoa . . .

I swear to God. I am SO under the influence of a) vodka b) pot c) heavy duty abdominal muscles as I'm saying all of this.

IT'S NOT MY FAULT, I TELL YOU!!!

You know on those HALLMARK CARDS, where they have those REALLY HOT GUYS ON THE FRONT, with the ABS, and the BICEPS, and it has a phrase like, "You wanna screw?" and then you OPEN UP THE CARD and it had a PICTURE of a SCREW?! One of those SILVER THINGIES???

Well.

PAUL IS THAT GUY ON THE COVER.

Why is life so GROSSLY UNFAIR?!

Seriously.

All I could do was stare at him, and what I lacked in dignity, I made up in saliva.

Okay . . . kidding.

But you KNOW what I mean.

WHY COULDN'T JESSE BE LIFTING WEIGHTS?

Wait. No.

No, bad, bad Suze.

BAD.

This was really, REALLY NOT GOOD.

Well, you know, the sight WAS good, but –

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Panicking, I tried to quickly duck out of the room again, when he laughed.

HE LAUGHED AT ME.

I was SO ASHAMED.

So yeah, I spun back into the room, and demanded, 'What are you laughing at?!'

To which he only SHOOK HIS HEAD.

That's right.

HE DIDN'T EVEN EXALT ME WITH AN ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION.

Not that I needed one, I already knew that he was laughing at my retarded-ness.

Ugh.

As soon as I remembered how to breathe, I let out a frustrated sigh. 'Well, do you know when Jack will be back?'

Paul raised his eyebrows. 'How would I know? De Silva came by, like, five minutes ago. So he's probably got Jack polishing his spurs or something,' he said in disgust. I took a moment to observe how much Paul TRULY hated Jesse. It was a silent loathing, one which could no longer be proven by flying fists. They were on the same side now, and they couldn't beat each other to bloody pulps anymore.

All they could do, basically, was glare, and badmouth each other.

Which can be kind of powerful, if you know how to do it properly.

But whatever.

'Oh,' I said. 'Um, yeah.'

Paul shrugged. 'Stay.'

I stared at him. 'Um . . . nah, I'm, um, right. And anyway, this room is starting to stink of B. O.'

That was a total lie. He had the window open, and I could barely smell a thing, only the very weak odour of perspiration.

And anyway, did I ever mention that Paul's sweat really doesn't smell that bad?

It really doesn't.

Paul gave me a cynical look. But whatever, I backed out of the room again, and started, AGAIN, down the hallway.

'Oh, right. Just run off on the guy who saved your life last night,' he yelled after me.

I paused, and groaned silently. I knew that was coming, sooner or later. I'd been totally hoping that it would be later, you know? As in, when he was like, eighty-five years old, crippled, and delirious?

No. He'd chosen THE FOLLOWING DAY for me to grovel.

Slowly, I slumped back into the room in which he was still obviously doing his workout. Now, he seemed to be just stretching.

With his shirt on.

There is a God.

'Look,' I said, 'I already told you that I was grateful. That should be enough, considering that I – '

But I noticed that he was grinning. I wasn't going to get off the hook that easily.

'Well,' I muttered awkwardly, 'Um . . . what do you want?'

What kind of a question was THAT?

I SWEAR, IF HE TOLD ME TO . . . MAKE IT UP TO HIM IN . . . CERTAIN WAYS, THEN HE WAS TOTALLY GOING TO GET HIS ASS KICKED.

He could get Dani the Dominatrix any day, the loser.

So when he said what he said next, I FREAKED.

'Well, I've never actually seen you in action, Suze.'

. . . WHAT?!?!

I SHOULD HOPE NOT!!!

My eyes bulged.

'What?!' I demanded, my voice a couple million octaves higher.

He laughed deeply. 'Ha, no. I meant, you always claim to have such superb fighting skills. And I don't believe you.'

I stared at him in bewilderment.

'So?' I asked.

He shrugged, as he raised his arms above his head, interlocking his fingers and stretching. He had long arms. Like an ape. Only, you know, he didn't look disproportionate or anything. 'Come on, Suze,' he smirked. 'You and me, one on one. Show me what you can do.'

That could sound so wrong . . .

I gave a nervous laugh. 'Um . . . '

'You owe me,' he reasoned.

I just blinked, like a complete dumbass. 'You want . . . to fight me?'

With arched eyebrows, he nodded. 'Yes. And I want to win.'

Oh.

Another competition.

I swallowed. WHAT? You'd SO be swallowing too, if you were watching this guy FLEX HIS MUSCLES, okay? It was REALLY daunting. I was totally quivering in my tennis shoes. Okay, not so much, but I was pretty slack jawed.

Paul wanted to beat me up.

Oh, great.

But . . . I couldn't say no. Then he'd know that I was scared.

He could NOT know.

So, very reluctantly, I stepped a little further into the room, and stood there like a freak, as he seemed to find it necessary to grab a towel, and slowly wipe his neck.

Hey? Where the hell did he get WEIGHTS FROM, anyway?! Don't tell me he brought them in his car. I simply won't believe you. No one brings a set of WEIGHTS on their job. It's just . . . NOT DONE, okay?

Maybe he bought them from a second-hand shop, or something?

. . . IT COULD HAPPEN.

Well. Anyway. Subsequent to my weird train of thought, I realized that it would probably be sensible to shed some of my own restraining clothes. So I ditched the little royal blue Adidas jacket that I had on, so I was left in a sleeveless red sports top and black sports tights.

All Adidas.

Um . . . yeah.

I still didn't understand what the hell I was doing. FIGHT PAUL? What the HELL did that entail? What? Battle to the death? Were there even going to be rules? Was it like, sumo-wrestling style?

WHAT?

I was giving Paul a very freaked out look, as he came to stand opposite me. About, you know, two meters away.

'You aren't going to kill me, are you?' I asked dumbly, 'Because, my life has already been threatened way too much for my own good.'

He sniggered. 'No, Simon. I'm not going to kill you. But you can't blame me if my hand just . . . slips.'

My eyes widened, and he laughed again.

WOULD HE JUST LIKE, STOP WITH THE LAUGHS ALREADY?!

JESUS CHRIST.

'Uh huh,' I said uncertainly. 'So . . . uh . . . what are you expecting?'

'To win,' he boasted.

'Um, I meant, you know . . . like, how are you fighting?' I corrected.

Paul ran his hand very slowly through his hair, his narrowed eyes lingering on me with mirth. He knew that he had me. How he had me, I wasn't sure. But he had me good.

And it was DAMNED CREEPY.

'Dirty,' Paul teased, in a sort of dark way.

Holy shit. HOLY shit. SHIT THAT IS HOLY.

'Fine,' I gulped, giving my hair a casual flip despite my nerves, 'just, um, don't bite my ear off like Tyson did, okay?'

Paul flashed me a toothy grin, and I noticed that Paul's teeth, besides being blindingly white, were also kind of sharp looking. Not like a vampire or anything, but just in general. Like, if he really did try to bite me, it'd probably draw blood. A lot of it.

'Ladies first,' he said as he spread his arms out. The gleam in his eye almost seemed to say, "I dare you to punch me". Boy, did I dare. So I tried to sock him one, but he caught my wrist.

'Wait. We forgot about the bed.'

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

'W-what?!'

'The bed. We have to move the bed, for more room.'

'Oh.'

Together, we picked up the bed and moved it against the wall, where it was out of our way. There was a clear space for us in the middle of the room now, and with the weights surrounding the center, it gave off that boxing-ring vibe. I joined Paul back at the center of the room, where I noticed the glow of the light above our heads seemed a bit brighter now that the bed was gone. In fact, it was so much brighter, I could almost feel the heat pour down from it and on top of my head causing me to break out in a light sweat.

Or at least I hope that was the reason.

Paul began to circle me as a vulture would circle its prey; waiting to sweep in and take whatever was left of me after he was done with me.

'How shall we fight this?' Paul asked, his steps becoming slower and slower.

I rolled my eyes at him. Cheap intimidation tactics don't work on me. 'I asked you the same thing a few minutes ago, remember?' I replied, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

'You want rules? Or does anything go in this battle?'

I don't know whether it was the sudden close proximity of Paul's lips to my ear or if it was just the way he asked the question, but something sent a chilling shiver down my spine.

'Rule number one:' I swallowed, trying to ignore Paul's breath on my ear, 'no crazy shifter powers will be employed. Period.'

'What's rule number two?' Paul asked in a hoarse type of whisper. There was something in his voice that seemed animalistic. Like, he wanted blood and he wanted it NOW.

And this, coming from the guy that saved my life the previous night. Talk about a flip-flop.

Oh wait. That's for politicians, not for lawyers.

Same difference. They're both dirty.

Well, two can play at that game. So THERE.

'Rule number two . . . think fast!'

With that, I swirled around and stomped on Paul's toe as hard as I could.

TAKE THAT, FIEND!

'Ow!' he snapped in surprise.

He stumbled back a good two feet away, but quickly recovered. After all, what are a few toes to Paul Slater? Besides, you know, minor body parts?

I thought for sure I heard a crunch or something, but Paul just shook his foot as if to shake off any pain that might have been there. I decided that since he feet might not be the way to bring him down (what was I thinking?), I directed a kick at his stomach.

I swear, this guy was pretty swift. I mean, I had always been quick on my feet because of the height thing. I'm just a small girl, you know? But Paul, with his tall height and massive muscles, SHOULD have been considerably slower than me, right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong.

Paul may not have been as agile as I on foot, but he sure was quick in his mind. It was almost as if he had seen my kick coming, and that's how he was able to grab my ankle and flop me on the ground.

On my back.

The thrill, the joy.

Not.

'I can't wait to see you lose,' he grinned down at me. Like a predator, himself.

I glared up at him with narrowed eyes. 'I'm not going to. When you're on YOUR back, and I'm standing over you after I've won, don't forget to tell me how beautiful the bottom of my chin is, right?' I shot at him, and he laughed disdainfully. I was going to say, how beautiful my nostril hairs are, but that was just gross.

'The only way that'll happen,' he leant down, so his face was hovering a foot above mine, 'Is if I snap your neck first.'

Well, THAT made me gulp.

My eyes widened in fleeting alarm at his homicidal threat, before I got kind of peeved.

'I'll show you how it's done,' I said acidly to him, as his foot came over my left arm, resting on my shoulder gently.

He grinned madly. 'This may be more than I bargained for,' he said. 'Then again, we've already moved the bed.'

. . . . EWW.

In outrage – and blushing like hell – I TOTALLY elbowed his leg off my shoulder, and scrambled up, before I aimed a heavy punch at his shoulder. He grunted, then grinned, and seized my OTHER arm, jammed it behind my back, causing me to go, 'SHIT!'

He laughed in my ear.

Well, that's nice.

It was even nicer when I used my weight, and rammed him back across the room, into the wall. I then elbowed him in the stomach.

. . . It hurt my elbow.

Ow.

I spun around to face him, and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him sideways so he fell over. He fell gracelessly onto the wooden paneled ground, and then thought it absolutely necessary to kick MY feet out from beneath me, so again, I was on my back.

What a bitch.

Then, he climbed over me, his arms either side of me. He was panting ever so slightly, as he grinned down at me.

'You're pretty quick, Simon,' he praised. 'But you're not going to win this.'

'Eat the shit you talk,' I snarled, before . . . um . . .

Headbutting him.

STOP LAUGHING. IT FRIGGING HURT.

I know that it was GAY, but . . . it seemed COOL.

Well, it WASN'T.

It's about as cool as a fat guy doing a bellyflop.

You just DON'T.

I groaned. 'That wasn't too clever.'

'Yeah,' he agreed.

I then took advantage of his cynicism for me, by shoving him on HIS back, and then . . .

Sitting on his stomach.

Wow. He sure knows who's boss now, Suze.

Really.

I grabbed his huge, muscly arms, and held them down forcefully, as my hair draped either side of my face. It almost reached his mouth, which was kind of gross. I mean . . . what? Entrée, Hair de la Susannah? Eww. How . . . um, furry.

I SO should have put it up.

But whatever.

'Hi,' I said aggressively.

He smirked from beneath me. 'Hi,' he replied, before rolling us over, so he was above me, pushing me flat against the floor. I went to get up, but he slammed me back down.

'This seems familiar,' he mused.

'What? With you and Dani every five seconds?' I asked through gritted teeth. 'I mean . . .' I waited for one of his hands to accidentally relax a bit . . . 'Even in PUBLIC.' I rapidly twisted my arm from his grip, before aiming a hefty punch at his jaw.

'Ooof!' he grumbled, 'Jesus!' His hand shot to the point of contact, and he nursed it, giving me a glare.

'PMS?' he asked.

'You'd know, Paul Michael Slater,' I retorted, causing him to, SHOCK HORROR, blush.

HA! I MOCK THEE, LORD OF THE PRE-MENSTRUAL STRESS.

I laughed, and wriggled totally away from him, and standing up rapidly, in preparation of another attack. He removed his hand from his jaw, in a quick movement, and grinned up at me again.

'Hey Suze?' he asked, still on the ground.

'What?'

'Nice chin.'

'Thanks,' I gave him a weird look. 'Haven't seen yours. You seem to prefer to look AT me. Am I that gorgeous?'

Whoa . . . getting a little overconfident, there Suze?

I tell you . . . this is the stuff I love.

The rush.

The pure adrenaline I feel, when I'm fighting.

It's the surge of power, of energy that impels me to keep on going, until I win.

And I WOULD win.

Yeah. I'm the Little Engine That Could.

. . . Kill me.

Paul rose to his feet, giving me a dark grin. 'Effective communication requires looking the recipient in the eye. If I were to look, I'd completely miss your eye. You 're short, if you haven't noticed. So I'll just settle for looking down on you.'

'Bully,' I pouted.

Then proceeded to slug him in the stomach.

Paul wheezed, but maintained his composure.

Stupid lawyer.

At least he didn't, like, insist on fighting in business suits. Or that I'd have to sign a contract with lots of fine print if I intended to fight him. That way, if I damaged like, his toenail, or something, he could sue my ass for three point five million US or something.

Of course, that was when he lunged at me, and wrapped his hands around my NECK.

Did he know how frigging OFTEN this HAPPENED TO ME?!

And yeah, this TOTALLY wasn't in a passionate way, either. Which I was thankful. But yeah, this was totally in the sense of his intent to strangle me. Well, he wasn't.

Yet.

I laughed. Yeah, I mean, come on. Paul? Nah. 'You're not serious,' I snorted skeptically. Jeez. What a loser. I mean, this was not exactly a fight to the death, or anything.

Only, what he said next kind of made me wonder.

'One life in the hands of Paul Slater. He can let it free, or cut it off.' For emphasis, he kind of dug his thumbs a little deeper into my throat, causing my eyes to widen a little. He wasn't choking me. He was just trying to scare me.

. . . Well, I hoped that was what his plan was.

It was very hard to swallow, because he was kind of blocking off that bit of my oesophagus that enables me to do so. YA KNOW?

Then, I mimicked his hand positions. I shoved my own around HIS neck.

'Ditto what you just said,' I muttered lamely.

'Or,' his eyes glinted maliciously, 'he can do this . . . ' With that, he spun me around, and shoved me face first into the nearest wall. With a muffled groan, I said, ' . . . Or that.'

Ow.

Breathing hard, I tried moving me shoulders, but Paul leant against me, using all of his weight to keep me stationary. Screwing up my face, I then kicked back as hard as I could. One of the times, I was SURE that I struck him hard in the nuts, because he totally let out this pig-squeal, which sounded REALLY weird. Well . . . it was kind of a deep, manly pig-squeal.

But still.

Paul took the kicks hard, but not hard enough. He was still playing the game, and winning. He saved his dignity by laughing off the fact that I'd almost pulped his manhood, and then kneed me in the side.

I sucked in air very sharply, and then pushed RIGHT away from the wall, so we fell back about a meter. Then I spun around, and punched him as HARD as I could in the chest.

My wrist ached.

'What is your lack-of-problem?!' I demanded in outrage.

He was finding this WHOLE THING hilarious. One big joke. A piece of cake. An easy victory. 'I thought you were going to show me how it was done,' he said in exaggerated disappointment. 'This all you got for me?'

Something strange, again, passed through me body, which was too ephemeral to identify. I tried to sock him in the face, but he totally caught my wrist in mid-punch, in that stupid iron-grip he had. I lifted my gaze to Paul's furiously, and suddenly, a horrible, gut-wrenching chill swamped me.

I didn't exactly know what to do, so I decided to go for a really hard kick. Only . . . um . . . Paul kind of caught my ANKLE too.

Now picture that for a second, and you'll understand how AWKWARD I was feeling about then, right?

Since we were still only a little away from the wall next to the door, Paul thrust me back and crushed me there against it, still kind of holding my ankle and my wrist.

I moaned at the force of impact.

My wrist was throbbing painfully because he was SO cutting off my circulation, the stupid weirdo. For someone who's able to prove someone guilty for, you know, stealing a wheelbarrow from a hardware store, or something, he sure wasn't being that law-abiding here, you know, with his homicidal tendencies. I mean, I entered this fight with NO intention to kill. But Paul . . . he was really scaring me.

It must have showed on my face, because a grin so smug erupted across his lips, as they curved up into a dangerous, rugged smirk that reeked of power, and confidence.

More chills drenched me. I suddenly became horrible aware that Paul WAS a man. I mean . . . you know, I kind of like, KNEW that. I mean, absence of breasts and everything, and presence of that perfect six pack . . . but yeah, I just suddenly – you know, KNEW that this was a man that I did NOT trust, and here he was, closer to me than most other men have been, with me in a very dangerous position. It was worse than daunting. It was menacing.

I'd never really thought of Paul as that. But all of a sudden, the fact that he was a very powerful man, sent me into chills that were colder than a winter blizzard.

Because, seriously. I didn't trust him.

Paul was leaning right against me, and I was finding it harder to breathe, because, yeah, okay, he was leaning on my CHEST. While he may not have been conscious of this, he totally was. Which I found way more uncomfortable than the fact that he was STILL gripping my ankle.

That was when the hand in question, slid up my leg, past my knee, to my thigh.

I am not even joking.

I almost frigging shat my sports pants.

Paul was still smirking at me, with an invisible emanating from him like heat. I knew, because my face was getting REALLY hot. His eyes were like, TOTALLY smug, still. Like he'd ALREADY won this. 'You said you could take me out. Now I'm asking where. Obviously, you have underestimated me.'

I didn't say anything.

No, correction: I COULDN'T say anything. What was there to say to THAT? Because, well, maybe I HAD.

Just maybe?

'Or have you overestimated yourself again?' he went on slyly, leaning his face ever closer to mine. HEY, according to the song, he was supposed to lean on me when he was NOT stro-o-o-ong. This was NOT COOL. 'At this rate, who knows what kind of trouble you could get yourself in,' he said hauntingly.

I spared a very random thought to Cole, but ignored it stubbornly.

'Shut up,' I replied acidly.

He gloated down at me, looking all hot and evil and stuff, the bastard, 'Well, well. Now your in a jam. How are you going to get out of it this time? Talking?'

Well, there goes my, "LOOK! A BIRD!" strategy.

I strained my arms against him, but he was totally not letting me go. This was a lesson he was not going to let me out of. He wanted me to learn.

I totally did not want to.

Then, he just went on ahead and said, 'I'm afraid it won't do you any good. Your mouth is what got you here in the first place.'

'WHAT THE HELL?!' I demanded in outraged affront. Did he think I like, went around kissing people or something?! 'What's THAT supposed to mean?!'

Paul chuckled darkly. 'You know, the lying, saying things you never meant, the insults . . . the kisses – '

I struggled wildly, and shouted, 'Shut the hell up!'

He pinned my wrist that he had in his hand, against the wall, and next to my head, and the hand he had on my thigh slid up dangerously, in carefully calculated movements. He was trying to provoke me into doing something. Knowing me, it would be something really embarrassing.

Nah, seriously. Paul was like, just waiting for me to show a demonstration of escapology or something. Which was really stupid. Because I wasn't an escapologist. Robbie Williams has an album called Escapology. That's about all I knew on the topic.

I didn't know what the hell he was doing, though. I tried placing it logically in my mind, but I could find no explanation for why he thought it compulsory to be touching me like that. This was a fight. Not a battle of sensuality.

But again with the Paulie Shivers. You know . . . how it felt bad, but in such a good way?

Yeah.

So he DID have a method to his madness. Because I couldn't move a millimeter, including my ability to breathe.

He moved his lips to beside my ear, and whispered into my hair, 'I think it's safe to say that I won.'

OI!

'I'm NOT giving up to you!' I said shrilly, and began flipping flippantly in order to obtain liberty, but he was like, being a TOTAL butt head. Honestly. 'I this was a fight to the death, as YOU seem to be treating it, I would be totally meaner. Like, war paint and everything.'

Yet, still, he looked totally contemptuous. Like, he was George Bush at election time, and TOTALLY thought that he was going to be president again. He TOTALLY thought that he was going to win this. Well, I was going to SHOW HIM.

WAR PAINT, OR NO WAR PAINT.

With a sudden burst of energy – its origin being my infuriation – I found it finally possible to heave him AWAY from me. I then aimed a side kick to the side of his head. He was knocked to the left.

Still got it.

. . . Bitch.

'Nothing is safe to say, with me,' I corrected him coldly, my fists balled.

He looked kind of taken aback that I'd gotten him away from me. I mean, that move had been FAST. I'm so totally cool.

Not.

BUT STILL! See? HE was the one who was overestimating himself. HIM.

I couldn't really think of anything clever to say. He was still staring at me, when I displayed even MORE of my superior Susie-skill and gave him another vigorous, lightning kick, causing him to fall flat on his butt, about two meters away.

I backed away from him coolly, so I was near the bed, at the other side of the room.

He was sprawled on the ground. 'Oww,' he groaned painstakingly, wincing. He glared up at me. 'You are SO going down . . . '

And with that, he TOTALLY leapt at me, grabbing me by the knees, so I ended up crashing onto the mattress of the bed, with him landing on the bottom half of my body. Paul crawled over me, not even smiling. But his eyes were on fire. 'Don't you love staring in the eyes of victory?'

I choked on my scarce spit – scarce, because my throat was like, Sahara dry.

That was when he raised his fist, to strike.

At that precise moment, a sensation of INTENSE, utter dread flooded through my body.

I reacted exactly how my first instincts were screaming for me to:

"HIDE!"

I threw my arms over my head protectively, and shrunk right away from him, flat against the mattress, and screamed, 'Don't!' while tensing every single muscle in my body, and preparing every nerve for unbelievable pain.

Then I remembered . . .

Cole Kennedy was a thousand miles away.

I lowered my arms, incredibly slowly, my eyes so, SO wide right then . . .

My God . . . what had Cole done to me?

Paul lowered his fist quickly. 'Suze . . . Suze, you knew I wasn't going to – ' he stared at me strangely, 'I wouldn't have hit y – I . . . I was just being – '

I kind of tried to sit up. He was still sitting over me, so this was easier said than done.

The aftermath of the fear still lingered along my skin, and in my now nauseous stomach. I couldn't look at him. I really couldn't. Not after . . . oh, Jesus . . .

'How hard _does_ he hit you?' Paul asked, sounding, quite plainly, like he was suppressing fury.

FURY.

I swallowed. 'I – I'm sorry, I was – it's just – you know, natural instinct – '

'Makes me think that it happens often,' Paul growled at me. His voice rumbled in my head, like soft thunder.

I stared past him, at the wall opposite. It was the wall adjacent to the wall with the door. The wall was boarded up. Grey colours.

That's all I was seeing.

All I saw when I remembered Cole . . .

Grey.

. . . What was happening to me?

'Suze,' Paul said, as I was still flat on my back. He put his hands on either side of my shoulders, leaning over me so I'd look at him and only him. Reluctantly, I met his severe gaze.

'Sorry,' I babbled quickly, again, 'I mean, it's got nothing to do with Cole. Nothing at all. What a funny thought . . . ha, Cole. I laugh in the face of Cole, ha. He's really just a wuss. Hits like a girl. I'm not scared of him, I'm – '

'Suze,' Paul said again. The way he said my name was like, almost defensive. Like he really WAS angry. Probably with the fact that I was obviously so pathetic and helpless and pitiful and annoying and –

Suddenly, there was a cough.

Paul's head whipped towards the door, and his eyes widened.

I too, turned to look.

Dani was standing there, her arms crossed, her expression totally saying, "Explain. As in, NOW."

Paul had this perfect deer-caught-in-headlights look. Seriously. Dani's top? $76 dollars. My Adidas shoes? $168. Paul's look then?

Priceless.

There are something things money can't buy.

For everything else, there's Paul Slater's bottomless money pit.

I suppose it must have looked slightly compromising, me lying on a bed, looking flushed – from the whole fist thing – and Paul practically straddling me.

'May I ask what's going on here?' Dani drawled. 'I mean, if I'm not interrupting anything, Paul,' she added, with a very unattractive scowl on her face.

Paul wasn't doing all that much in the getting-the-hell-off-of-me department. Ha. One would think that he was enjoying lying on top of me after he'd just pretended to assault me.

'Um,' I said, digging my nail into Paul's ribs discretely so he kind of got a hint – he did, and totally moved off of me – 'Paul and I were just – '

'Fighting,' Paul said professionally, brushing down his grey top. 'Suze reckoned she could beat me.'

'In fighting,' I added, still feeling dazed, and embarrassed about the whole recoiling thing.

'Yeah,' said Paul.

He wandered over to Dani's side, and put his arm around her shoulders. She still had her eyes narrowed at me, though.

'I won,' I shrugged, finally getting vertical again. I too, stood up.

Dani, who looked very suspicious still, glared at me. 'It seemed to me that Paul had the upper hand, there. Why isn't he the winner?'

'Paul suddenly got handicapped,' I explained. 'You came.'

Dani's look turned positively filthy.

I had the sudden, nasty urge to bring up the whole your-girlfriend-cracked-on-to-a-bunch-of-dead-eighteen-year-olds to Paul, but I decided against it.

God knew, now they were joint at the hip again, they'd totally become accomplices in their bid to off me, Le Susannah Grande.

Um. Yeah.

'She's just angry because I almost had her,' Paul assured Dani.

'In fighting,' I said again, my voice now mocking.

'Yeah,' said Paul.

Dani narrowed her freshly lined eyes acerbically. 'I bet you aren't so hard to take, Sue. Unless you crunched me with your bum or something.'

'As opposed to yours fitting through the eye of a needle?' I asked.

'I'll take that as a compliment,' she said smugly.

'It wasn't,' I guaranteed her.

'Whoa,' said Paul, 'Where's the mud when you need it?'

Dani glared at him, but then, with a pained look at me, smiled lovingly at him, and went, 'Oh, you.'

Ouch.

I gave Dani a sarcastic look. One which Dani totally took offense to.

'Paul,' she whined, holding onto his arm more clingingly, 'Paul, she thinks she's better than me, just because she's a shifter! YOU don't think you're better than me, do you?' Her last two words were accompanied with a look that said, "SAY NO OR ELSE."

'Of course not, Dani,' Paul said easily.

'Yeah,' I agreed. 'He doesn't think he's better. He knows it. As do I.'

Dani looked FURIOUS.

Um . . . so?

Paul scowled at me. But I was too busy ducking out of the room, and getting the hell out of there as fast as I could.

I SO would have won.

. . . I WOULD HAVE.

But stupid DANI had to come in.

Stupid Barbie . . . with her stupid boobs, and her stupid –

Oh, sigh.

Then again . . . it's not about who wins, all the time.

It was about who had the power, in the very end.

And that would always be Paul.

8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Okay.

So, yeah.

Interesting chapter, that was.

What do you think of these new ghosts?

And for the reference, WE LOVE MAROON 5. Lolly's favourite song is She Will Be Loved. It's just not Suze's.

Okay.

So yeah.

Love you all.

Lolly and Hayley.


	15. Regulation Haunting

**Wow . . . look at our baby . . . she's 15! Ch15 is here for your reading enjoyment. Me and Hayles got a little feisty in this chapter (not with each other, you freakies,) so don't mind that. **

**Sorry for the inconvenience of you know, fanfiction not working.**

**BUT HERE IT IS.**

**Love Lolly and Hayles.**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

Word travels fast around the SIA. I mean, if you did the math, that's six mouths . . . seven if you count Jesse's, even if technically his mouth doesn't exist anymore.

And one of those mouths belongs to CeeCee Webb, who's a freaking journalist. Journalists LIVE for gossip and detailed little stories. And Adam takes big news and turns it into a big joke. I thought for certain that he would have joked about our misfortune with the . . .well, Misfortunates.

But no. Word hadn't traveled through the whole SIA grapevine yet. In fact, the grapevine seemed to steer completely out of the direction of the Slater brothers.

That means Dani didn't tell Paul, which totally surprises me. And, apparently, Paul too. So surprised, in fact, that it made him just a LITTLE upset, but not at DANI. Oh NO, Paul just decided to go all POSTAL on ME instead.

Let's back-track, shall we?

You see, after I had left Paul and Dani to do whatever it is perfect people do, I decided to go downstairs for a snack. I mean, fighting sure does rouse an appetite. Right as I got to the stairwell, Jesse materialized so suddenly, I thought I might have tripped had I not seen him coming.

'Why do you always do that?' I asked Jesse, annoyed. Jesse smirked at me from his leaning position on the railing of the stairs. Even though I wanted to hate his guts, I had to admit that Jesse was one gorgeous creature.

'I haven't done that to anyone in years, Susannah. I miss the reaction,' Jesse said ever so calmly. I don't understand how anyone could sound so calm with such a smirk on their face. It seemed so mismatched, you know?

I rolled my eyes. 'What about Jack? Why haven't you scared the pee out of him yet?'

Jesse's smirk turned into a full-on dazzling white smile. 'Because, Susannah,' he said in a way that – I'm afraid to say – made my face go a little red, 'it is more fun when you do it. I missed your reaction.'

Great. He missed scaring the poop from my butt. Glad to hear it.

Ew.

But for some reason I kept thinking that maybe he actually missed me too. Okay, I didn't THINK it . . .I HOPED. But I shouldn't have, because I knew Jesse didn't. Miss me, I mean. Because why would he have let me go in the first place if he wanted my company?

You know what? Whether you're seventeen or twenty-three, guys in general are still pains in the butt. I guess you learn to deal.

Or you learn to knee 'em where it hurts. It's very effective, you know.

'Yeah . . .what do you want, anyway?'

I know. I was sounding rude and shit. But Jesse admitted that he loved to torture me, in not so many words. And I had just gotten out of a fight, and so adrenaline was still pumping in my veins, impairing my judgement slightly. I probably still had some energy to take him on too, if he hadn't totally taken me off-guard with the whole surprise pop-up.

When he didn't answer right away, I breezed past him down the stairs

Jesse calmly answered down to me as I neared halfway down, 'I'd like to make a gathering – a meeting, if you will – of the SIA. In the library.'

That stopped me right there. A meeting? As far as I knew, the SIA didn't DO meetings. We were, like, the anti-business or something. We just never had meetings because we never really needed them. There's only three things to do in the SIA: Research, Resolve, and Remove. So simple. No meeting necessary.

But I had a feeling, judging on the no-nonsense expression Jesse's face now possessed, that there was a little more to this "meeting" than the three R's of the SIA.

'If we must,' I sighed, which caused Jesse to give me a fleeting look of sympathy, before he sat on the edge of the stair rail and slid down it, Mary Poppins style. God. Does he float away on umbrellas too? Ugh. And we won't even GO into that whole Poppins dress.

Hot as Jesse is, he just wouldn't do to dress up in THAT.

How I shudder.

When he reached the bottom of the rail, he hopped off and landed expertly on both feet.

'I shall see you there, Susannah,' he called back up to me, waving a casual hand in the air as he went off to inform the others of the meeting.

Well, that's just dandy.

I blinked several times after him. It was now pretty much late afternoon. Like, almost six, if my watch speaks true to me. And it probably was, because, you know, the whole sunset thing.

Well, the sun was ALMOST setting. Not yet, but soon it would.

. . . Um, yeah.

_Here comes the sun, little darling . . . and I say . . . _

_It's **not** all right._

Feeling weird, I wandered down the ever-dust-ridden hallways to the library, which didn't improve all that much, in the dust department. It was still old, and musty, and dull. Everything was either brown, grey, or green. Rich colours, faded over time. It hadn't changed since this morning, save the books that CeeCee had left spread across one of the tables. Her laptop was still there, too. The hard, lumpy green chairs were still around the tables, looking uninviting. I nervously sat on CeeCee's previous one, and started leafing boredly through her research, finding nothing of interest. With a sigh, I wondered where the hell CeeCee WAS.

. . . On second thought, actually, I didn't want to know so much.

You see, ever since young Cee had bagged old Adam, I was thinking that she was starting to think of herself as this little sex kitten. Which was SO CUTE. Not to say that she dressed like Dani, or anything. Eww. God no. That's like, illegal. Or it should be. But nah, CeeCee's confidence had increased SO much, it was mind-blowing. She now wore outfits that showed off her albino skin, making her look incredibly classy. She loved dark colours that made her paleness stand out more, going for shock rather than subtle. I was noticing that she loved purple. It brought out her eyes.

CeeCee was really beautiful, despite the albino thing. She'd risen above the nasty comments and the racism that she'd received in her life. Adam washed that all away for her.

And it was magical for her.

I could see that.

Hell, you just had to look at her eyes and see how happy she really was.

It was a truly wonderful thing. I was totally happy for her.

Just . . . you know . . . a little on the envious side, is all.

But aren't we all?

I mean, what more could a girl want? Being with someone who loves her that much.

Because, my friends, Adam was no different from her. He was in ecstasy.

Which made me wonder, how great _WAS_ their sex life?

. . . Eww.

It must be pretty damn good. I mean, Dani needs Botox to smile that much. CeeCee seems to manage the whole permanent-smile thing naturally.

That was kind of sad, if you thought about it. To think that CeeCee had beaten me, to, you know, do It. Oh well. She deserved to be happy, more than me. It was as simple as that.

It kind of made me a little irritated to think that CeeCee was busy screwing Adam, when she should have been, you know, researching.

But THEN, I was having a fight with a Lucifer incarnate, so I couldn't really talk, right?

Which made me wonder, _THEN_, why the hell DID Paul ask me to fight? I mean, I totally didn't buy the whole I-wanna-see-your-fighting-skills thing. In fact, I had gotten the distinct impression that his plan all along had been to see if I was . . . well, bullshitting.

That's right, my lovelies. Paul didn't believe me about the Cole thing, and he wanted to find out for himself.

Well, um, I think that he found out.

If the whole "STOP! DON'T HURT ME!" thing was any indication.

God, kill me now.

I'm seriously. Yeah, because, after he'd done that – you know, put his fist down – I saw this really weird look in his eyes. In fact, I've been thinking about it ever since I ran out of that room. It was disturbing. It was a clash between anger, and grim satisfaction. The anger, obviously, was because Paul was furious with what I'd let myself become. You know, helpless and stuff, when it came to Cole Kennedy. And now, after much deliberation, I'm starting to think that the "grim satisfaction" was because, well yeah, it had been his little scheme into tricking me into reacting EXACTLY as I would if I was being whacked by Cole.

And trust me. This guy hit me often enough for me to have gotten in the habit.

Which is even more pathetic of me.

But, um, can we not go there just now?

Um, yeah. Thanks.

Sigh.

I waited boredly, touching the keys of CeeCee's laptop, waking up the screen. You had to type in a password to get into it, anyway. She kept all her top secret journalism stuff on her laptop, and I had no desire to intrude in her work. That laptop was her life. She wrote EVERYTHING on it. And I had a feeling that she didn't exactly keep, you know, back-up discs and stuff. Adam said she's writing a thesis, at the moment. About what, he hasn't dared to ask.

Maybe it's about the "Big Bang Theory."

Only . . . you know, CeeCee's got a new way of looking at the word "bang," since she started up with Adam.

. . . Okay, Suze, that is just wrong.

Um, uh huh.

'Suze!'

I looked up boredly. Jack came walking in, grinning. He looked pretty smooth, in a fresh pair of baggy jeans, with a few chains on the side, and a black Good Charlotte T-shirt. I noticed, with relief, that Jack wasn't a complete Paul clone. Jack seemed a little more laid-back as he clopped around in his Converse All Stars. Paul, as far as I knew, probably didn't even own a pair of sneakers. He'd probably never even CONSIDER purchasing sneaks AT ALL. It's just how Paul IS.

With this knowledge, I smiled at Jack as he slid into the chair next to me.

'So,' I said cynically, 'Jesse made you come to this gay meeting too?'

'Uh huh,' he said. 'It sounds boring.'

'It will be,' I assured him.

'Oh, thanks,' he answered sarcastically, 'You could have at least lied so I would have had false hope.'

I twitched up the corners of my lips again. He was so weird. But cute.

'This really IS like a job now, Suze,' Jack noticed.

'Meh,' I sighed, and rested my head on my folded arms, which were also on the table. 'Where's everyone else?'

'I dunno,' Jack shrugged. 'Do you know what the meeting's about?'

I looked back up at him. 'Jesse didn't tell you?' I asked in surprise.

He wrinkled his forehead. 'Uh, no. Why?'

I was about to reply, when Jesse materialized by the table in a blue shimmer. Jack smiled up at Jesse fondly and greeted him with a cheery, 'Hey Jesse.'

Another thing the Slater brother's don't have in common. Mutual feelings towards Jesse, I mean. You'd think that Paul's raw hatred and ill will towards Jesse would rub off on Jack or something. But no . . .Jack seemed to love Jesse. Not like I love_d_ Jesse or anything . . .ew, that'd be GROSS. I mean love like you would love, well, your own brother. Jack's spirit, you could tell, would get so much higher when Jesse was around.

Jack was different around Paul, like he became a totally different kid. He would try to act older, often times imitating whatever his older brother did. It was like Jack was trying to impress Paul somehow.

I don't even know why the kid cared. Sometimes Paul can be a little . . .

'BeeeYOOOOtiful afternoon, idn't it?' Adam called as he burst in the room, tugging CeeCee along with him.

Behind the happy couple came Paul with Dani who whispered something sensuously in his ear. Paul smiled at Dani playfully and mumbled something back at her, which caused her to giggle like a little schoolgirl.

'Yeah,' I replied to Adam, trying to keep down my gag reflex, 'Beautiful.'

'So what's this about, anyway?' CeeCee asked, slipping in her seat slowly.

'Yeah,' Adam said, looking around casually, 'I mean, I just got out of the shower and there was a memo about it, I think. I can't read Calligraphy all that well, Jesse.'

Adam couldn't see it, but Jesse smiled at him and shook his head. Jesse turned his head towards me and glanced at me for a fleeting moment, but quickly turned away when I met his gaze.

I felt pretty nervous, as Jesse slowly took a seat, about the meeting to come. I guess it was because I knew what was coming, what was going to be said.

Maybe everyone knew. I hoped everyone knew. Not about the part where Charlie tried to strangle me, or where Nathan kissed me, or how Robin's voice made me shiver . . .

Gosh. I just wanted them to know that I found the Misforts. Me. ALL ME!!

I felt something brush my elbow, and I looked up to see Paul, taking the seat next to Dani, which also happened to be next to me. I looked away quickly, suddenly becoming interested in my hands, trying to ignore my burning cheeks.

'Uh, can I ask something? Jesse's supposed to be heading this thing, right?' asked Adam.

'Yeah.'

'Well, um, there's going to be a little communication error. Jesse's a great guy and all, but he's just a little bit . . .dead.'

'Just a little?' Paul asked nastily.

Jesse ignored his witty little line and waved a piece of paper, immediately dragging all of the attention towards him. Especially from Adam and CeeCee, who looked at the paper in awe. I rolled my eyes. It's like they've never seen a ghost before.

Oh wait. They haven't.

'Susannah,' Jesse addressed me solidly, 'I would like to enlist your help, to pass the highlights of this meeting along to Adam and CeeCee. Could you, perhaps, serve as a translator?'

'Why not make it easier and just let someone with a heartbeat hold the meeting?' I asked dully.

'You had an opportunity, Susannah, to hold a meeting of your own,' Jesse replied simply, 'I don't remember you jumping at that opportunity earlier this morning.'

I sniffed indignantly. 'You smell.'

'Real mature, Suze,' CeeCee snickered.

'Yeah? Well you smell too.'

'She smells NICE,' Adam said as he kissed CeeCee's cheek.

Jack's nose wrinkled teasingly. 'No she doesn't.'

'I do too!' CeeCee piped up. 'It's Oscar de La Renta.'

'That's old lady cologne.'

'It's not cologne. It's perfume –'

_Riiiip._

No, someone did NOT let rip. Like, fart or something.

Ewww.

Nah. That was Jesse, dramatically ripping the piece of paper he held in his hand, as a means to call order to this out of control group. CeeCee's eyes widened, and her mouth closed.

Even when you can't see him, Jesse's still sometimes intimidating.

Paul pushed his chair back and propped his feet on the table, folding his arms in front of his chest. This caused Dani to stir from her private ogling of Jesse, and she glanced at Paul in mild disgust.

You could so tell she wanted to jump on Paul for bad table manners. But, alas, this is AMERICA. It's a free country. There was nothing her snobby British ass could do about it. Especially since Paul could whip out how her correcting him on his manners is "unconstitutional" and he could possibly drop a big fat lawsuit on her.

Well, that's enough to make ME think twice about it.

'What's so important anyway?' Adam asked. 'Did the toilet paper run out or something? Should I alert the media?'

Paul waved his hand boredly. 'Let the man talk. I'm interested.'

Oh, sure. Riiiiight.

Because there was so missing the undeniable, suppressed loathing in Paul's eyes. Or Jesse's for that matter. The guys hated each other. It was so obvious. Well, to all people who could actually SEE Jesse.

But whatever.

Jesse took a deep, unnecessary breath and started, 'I am sure by now you have probably heard that two of our own, Susannah and Danielle, have come across other ghostly inhabitants in –'

Paul got to his feet rather quickly. Now, I'm sure, he really WAS interested in what Jesse had to say, if his quick movement were any indication. 'Wait. _What_?'

'Yeah, what?' Adam went.

'The fact has come to my attention, and I think we have a duty to –'

'When, exactly, did this happen?' Paul demanded. 'And why didn't anyone tell me?'

Uh, oh. Just as I feared. Here we go . . .

'What, happen?' frowned CeeCee.

'Paulie, dear, calm down,' Dani cooed, touching Paul's arm lightly from where she was sitting. 'Sue and I came across them earlier this morning. I would have told you sooner, but I was so . . . shaken about it afterwards.'

Gag me with a spoon. THIS was too much.

I had the bravery to softly snort in cynicism.

'Oh, is this about the ghosts you found earlier?' Adam asked with a yawn. 'I already know about them. Can I sleep now?'

'Adam,' CeeCee warned.

'_HE_ knew before I did?' Paul asked incredulously. 'How does Adam McTavish know before ME? He can't even SEE them for Christ's sake!'

'Hey, watch it, Judge Judy. I have a right to know, too,' Adam snapped boredly.

Jesse cleared his throat and continued quietly among harsh, loud chatter, 'From what I hear from Susannah and Danielle, these ghosts' intentions are quite . . . malevolent –' . . . Erm, more like horny '- I'm afraid we must take action immediately to ensure our safety in this school.'

'For the mortals, at least,' I said boredly. 'Why don't we stick Anti-ghost stickers everywhere? That'll put 'em in their place, right? Oh, hang on. That will limit _your_ roaming of the school, Jesse,' I beamed flatly at him.

His gaze grew stony.

And I didn't care.

'Susannah, this is serious. Please consider the risks of having them here, possibly to attack again at any point in time,' he said gravely, like someone had died, or something.

Which was just it.

Only now, they'd come back to haunt us.

And I mean that _so _literally.

Ow. My foot's numb.

Sigh.

Paul was still incredulous, and kind of, um, angry. Well, I totally expected him to be. You know? 'Who else knew about this? About the ghosts being found?' he demanded coldly.

'Um, the ghosts?' I suggested.

. . . What? They _did_.

'Sue and I knew, because we saw them. Jesse saved us from them, so he knew. And I think Sue told CeeCee and Adam,' Danielle said in her hideous accent.

Paul looked scandalized.

'You didn't think to tell me?' he shot at me heatedly.

I yawned. 'Slipped my mind,' I shrugged.

Paul glared at me furiously. Remind me to annoy him more often. He looks so funny when he's pissed.

Teehee.

'With the Mortal Combat, and all,' I added.

'I like that game,' Jack said happily.

We ignored him.

'And plus,' I pointed out stubbornly, 'Miss U.K could have told you. Shaken? God, shaken, my big toe. Give her some scary glares, why don't you? Or will her anger with you affect her bed performance, or something? Rage is a great aphrodisiac,' I said crudely.

CeeCee stared at me in shock, and Adam snorted.

Aphrodisiacs? Like I, Suze Simon, would KNOW.

Paul, next to me, looked really pissed off.

Ha.

'If it makes you feel better, I didn't know either,' Jack said quietly.

Jesse coughed, trying to get attention.

We ignored him, too.

'I'm afraid it doesn't, Jack. If you all didn't notice, Jack and I work here, too. So kindly inform us when something of this magnitude pops up. I could have handled it.' The funniest thing? His comment was to everyone, but his fiery eyes of ice were piercing ME as he said it. Yeah. Like I was the only one who knew about it.

I let out a noise of nonchalance.

'I don't have to tell you anything, Paul,' I said smoothly. 'I'm not the one fucking you.'

'_Ha_!' Adam yelled in delight.

Paul's eyes bugged a little.

'Suze!' CeeCee scowled.

And Jack just cracked up laughing. 'Eww!' he snickered wildly.

Wow. Look at little Susie, coming out of her shell. Our baby's growing up, and swearing, and everything. Aww. Idn't it so cute?

Teehee. I said "fuck."

Fuck, fuck, fuck-y fuck. How'd you like that, _Slater scum_?!

Um . . . sorry.

Jesse looked a little sick. 'Susannah . . . please. Not in front of Jack.'

Jack's little face was beaming brightly. 'I can handle it,' he laughed immaturely.

'No you can't,' everyone – but me – snapped at him.

Jesse made an impatient noise, one which was useless to CeeCee and Adam, who couldn't hear the dead like us poor souls could, 'Please, everyone. It doesn't matter who knew or didn't know about this. What's important is that it _has_ happened, and we must do something about it.'

I sighed, and put my head on the table again, facing like, um, AWAY from Paul. He was still majorly pissed. In translation for Cee and Adam, I muttered boredly, 'He told us to shut the hell up.'

Jack was still grinning like the Cheshire cat on steroids. 'Something like that,' he said energetically to them. Hey, if swearing is all it takes to get thirteen-year-olds to worship you, I should be profane more often, huh?

Jesse's ghostly voice grumbled. 'I propose that first, before taking any course of action, we must present this to the Good Padre. He is well enough that we can visit him right away. I think it is necessary that he knows about this too, and that it would be most wise to seek his advice.'

'Now?' I asked skeptically.

'What are the ghosts like?' asked CeeCee dreamily, for she was not suffering from Jesse's boring speech.

I rolled my eyes. 'Ask Dani,' I suggested. 'She can provide you with all the major details, down to penis size. I'm sure she measured.'

'Suze,' CeeCee said, a little shocked, 'What's gotten into you?'

Jack started giggling again.

Whoa.

What? So SUE me. I was angry at Paul. You know, for the whole forcing-the-truth-about-Cole out of me before. He knew everything he WASN'T suppose to know, and it wasn't FAIR. I had my right to privacy, right? I had my right to, um, independence?! This was AMERICA. I was allowed to DO THINGS ON MY OWN.

And if my methods of getting rid of my savage ex were a little . . . um, slow, then that was my own problem. NOT some snobby LAWYERS who has a POLE jammed up his BUTT.

A REALLY BIG POLE.

WITH SPIKES ON IT.

AND SUPER GLUE.

SO IT COULD NEVER COME OUT.

IT WAS STUCK UP THERE FOREVER.

AND IT MADE SHITTING DIFFICULT!!!!

. . . Something like that.

Dani gave me a sarcastic noise. She was probably giving me a look to match, but I wasn't facing her. I had my eyes closed, and my right ear resting on my arm. 'She's just a little shocked from the confrontation,' she assured everyone. 'I would be, if I had nearly gotten strangled to death. Poor thing, must be horrible to be so defenseless.'

Don't you just LOVE how she sugar-coated _THAT_?

I jerked up angrily, and shoved Paul's face backwards with the palm of my hand, so I could make vicious eye-contact with his skanky girlfriend. 'At least I didn't start MAKING OUT WITH THEM when they wanted to get frisky,' I retorted hotly.

Paul looked kind of weirded out at the fact that I'd plowed my hand at his nose. His nose was all dry. Like, you know, not sweaty. It was . . . you know, a nice nose. Nice skin. Like, as if he used a good brand of guy moisturizer.

Whoa, Suze, off topic much?

Dani looked pococurante. 'They kissed me. Simple as that.'

'You kissed them back!' I snapped at her.

'But that means nothing to you,' Paul's muffled voice said dryly to me, 'So she's in the clear now, right?'

I fleetingly shot him a look of alarm, fearful that he'd tell everyone present, in detail, of what his hidden meaning was when he said that, but he didn't.

Though I wouldn't have put it past him, because he was seriously annoyed at me, at the current time.

'Paul, go catch a chicken,' I glared.

'I accommodated them in my defense. You did not. And you almost got yourself killed,' she said smugly. 'I think that I was the smarter one.'

Paul looked a little disturbed at this, sending Dani a curious glance.

'You LIAR,' I yelled, bashing my fist dramatically, 'You SO – '

'_Senoritas_!' Jesse said, his volume commanding and irritated. '_Por favor_! Calm yourselves. We need to decide what to do, and as I said before, I believe it would be wise to consult Father Dominic about the issue. Does everyone agree?'

Dani, giving me a look of bubbling, sizzling poison, cocked her perfectly profiled head to the side, and gave her Cosmo-Cover-Shoot smile, purring, 'It's a marvelous idea, Jesse.'

Adam and CeeCee looked at her blankly.

'What is?' Adam asked.

'Susannah, tell them, please,' Jesse said impatiently.

I sighed.

'Cross-dressing, Adam,' I said dully.

'What? Susannah, no – '

Jack cracked up again. Like, REALLY.

I guess I can understand. The mental images I just very wonderfully supplied everyone with of Paul and Jesse in fishnets and heels, were, perhaps, not necessary, yet ever so comical.

'Come on Jesse,' I teased boredly, 'We all know you used to try on my panties when I was at school.'

Paul rolled his eyes, and grunted.

Jack was shaking with rambunctious laughter.

'Really?' Adam asked in gullible astonishment.

'Can we pipe down?' Paul drawled from my right, getting annoyed as well. 'I don't care about Jesse's "tendencies". We need a plan – '

'Sure you care, Paul,' I quipped. 'The sight of Jesse in his leather mini makes you get hot all over.'

Jack was now a lost cause, he was laughing so hard.

Must be great to be thirteen.

Paul, however, wasn't so amused.

YEAH. BECAUSE IT'S TRUE. YOU'RE GAY. DANI'S JUST A COVER UP.

'Go to a gay bar, already,' I said to him.

. . . God, a little bold, Suze?

I didn't care. I was annoyed.

Yeah. And Paul was still mad at me.

Well SOR_RY_.

'Are we keeping you from something, Suze? Or are you actually going to be serious about our job?' he demanded in a cold tone. I sat up, and looked up at him tiredly. 'I don't think you see the seriousness in this situation. Jesse's right, for once. If I'm not mistaken, you of all people should be the most concerned about this, especially since you are now possibly their biggest target.'

Dani made a little noise of affront, which Paul chose to ignore.

'What the hell?' I asked. What bullshit. Me? Why the hell would they go for me? I mean, okay, yeah, I've been attacked twice now, already, (three times if you include the SHOWER, and the BLOOD, and the EWW-ness of it all,) but yeah, attack me AGAIN? What are the _odds_?

Honestly. How random of him.

'It's like prison,' I explained. 'They'll go for the guy with the small hands. Run Jack, run.'

Adam snorted.

Jesse was regarding me stiffly, too. 'Slater is right, Susannah. You should take this more seriously. You were the one they were strangling, after all, if what you say is true.'

Ha. He didn't believe me, either.

Get a life, Jesse. Literally.

'Oh, that?' I smiled prettily, 'I made that up, mommy. I just want attention.'

'Well, Charles almost cutting off your airways sure did the trick –'

'You're just glad he didn't FRIGGING FINISH THE JOB,' I shouted at Miss-Inflatable-For-Your-Convenience – she probably pumped them up in the morning or something – when Paul bashed his fist on the table, making everyone jump in alarm. Even Jesse.

Whoa.

It was like he was about to start shrieking, "Order! ORDER IN THE COURT, I SAY!" or something equally as retarded.

'Shut UP,' he hissed. AT ME. NOT AT THE OTHER CRIMINAL PARTY.

GOD. What? Was he worried that she wouldn't screw him if he embarrassed her, or something? JESUS.

'Can I go now?' Jack whined.

'No,' CeeCee said, glad to contribute something.

'Not yet. Susannah, can I trust you to call the hospital to ask for a visitation this afternoon or evening?' Jesse seemed a little BITTER about something. What that was, I couldn't guess. Maybe it was the fact that our oxygen tasted _so good_ . . .

God, I'm such a bitch.

Well, at least Dani rates higher on the Bitch-O-Scale than me.

So s'all good.

'Please, Susannah?' Jesse said through gritted teeth. 'Ring the hospital, on the telephone?'

_Nuuuuuuh. On the smell-o-phone._

'I can do it, Jesse,' Dani volunteered with a toothy smile.

'Anytime, anywhere,' I muttered under my breath.

Paul heard.

'That's IT,' he yelled at me. 'Suze, go get a _fucking_ life.'

I blinked at his volume. My heart literally stopped for like, three seconds or something, before it cautiously resumed pumping. My pupils were tiny. I was kind of, you know, freaked that he yelled at me that furiously. I mean, God, I know he was angry, AND that he was genetically P.M.S, but honestly.

Jack's smile was scraped of his face.

See what I mean by postal? And it wasn't even fair! Dani didn't tell him about it either. It was as much her fault as is was mine. And you know what? At least I wasn't cheating on him with eighteen year old GHOSTS. I practiced self-restraint, something DANIELLE obviously didn't possess.

But Paul didn't choose to see it that way. Thus, his gaze was angled at me, stinging like a bunch of arrows as it pierced my heart.

In all honesty, Paul's suggestion kind of hurt. I mean, it's like he was telling me that I hadn't changed at all, and that I was still that naïve little seventeen year old that hadn't the foresight to see that her life was about to spin out of control. And maybe he was right, AGAIN. Maybe I hadn't grown up. Maybe I hadn't changed.

And maybe I never will. I'll always be this pathetic loser who can't keep a job or fight off her abusive ex. And this fact will never be laid to rest by Paul, who I'm sure would constantly remind me of my horrible reality.

I was too emotionally wounded to reply. The whole room developed a momentary silence, which spread faster than the flu virus in the middle of November.

'Meanwhile,' Paul continued once he was convinced he had everyone's attention, 'the rest of us can go and visit Father Dominic. That is, unless you can handle this maturely, Suze.'

I shot Paul an ireful glare. Paul was treating me like a freaking two-year old. 'I can handle anything.'

Oh. Shouldn't have said that. The look Paul gave me scared me, because I knew that at any moment, he could reveal what I COULDN'T handle.

Namely, Cole Kennedy.

I saved myself quickly by springing to my feet. 'I'm on it. Done. Dommy before dinner. Gotcha.'

With a snap and a quick wink, I pushed my chair back in place, waiting for the meeting to be officially closed. At my past avenues of employment, the boss never held meetings before. If there was a problem, it was pointed out and fixed right away, or else heads went rolling. So I really didn't know how these things worked.

Jesse exhaled gustily. 'Meeting adjourned.'

Everyone mumbled something incoherent as they followed my suit, pushing in their chairs. I chanced a nervous glance at Paul.

I guess I was still kind of worried that Paul might all of a sudden go, "Funniest thing. Guess how Suze got that bruise on her cheek . . . "

Or something.

'I'll just, um, go make that phone call now,' I said nervously. 'But, uh . . . what if they won't let us see him? I mean, don't they have rules or whatever?'

'Just show 'em a little leg,' Adam winked at me.

'Shut up, Adam,' CeeCee said as she nudged Adam in the ribs. He doubled over comically, meriting a chuckle from Jack.

'That won't be necessary, Susannah,' Jesse said solemnly. 'Last time I checked, Father Dominic is in a fairly stable condition.'

'You could say it's his birthday, if all else fails,' Adam suggested with a grin. 'They might go for that.'

I never thought of that. Shows how uncreative I am. Or maybe it just shows how sneaky Adam is. Paul was looking away from me, but where he was looking, (at Jesse) still obviously made him angry, because he was glaring like there was no tomorrow, for him to glare some more.

GLARE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!

. . . Or, um, something.

'How old is he, anyway?' I asked, curious.

'Really old,' Jack replied, wrinkling his nose.

Adam smiled. 'I think he's like one of those Redwood trees, with the rings in the middle. Count his wrinkles, and maybe you'll find out.'

Jack and I sniggered. Father Dom was pretty wrinkly. Not prunish or anything, but I'm sure counting all of his wrinkles would be pretty hard.

And plus. Don't guys have _other_ _wrinkles_, in, um, certain places?

But hell. It was a penis. Dani wouldn't mind exploring. She wasn't picky.

Skank.

Serious. She was probably the cover girl of the "STOP RAPE; SAY YES" policy.

Jesse cleared his throat and looked at the old clock impatiently. It didn't work anymore. The time was stopped at 1:35. 'Susannah . . . '

'Um, I'll go get my cell phone.'

'Is that upstairs?' CeeCee asked. 'Don't you need someone to go with you?'

I shrugged. 'Up you hop, Jack. Let's go on our honeymoon.'

Jack, looking a little too eager for a thirteen year old going for a walk up a flight of steps, scrambled out of his chair, grinning like an idiot. I think he was still won over from the whole "cross-dressing" crack I'd made.

'Actually, Jack,' Paul muttered to his brother, 'Go sit back down. I need to have a word to Suze.'

'But she asked ME to go,' Jack glared. 'Not you.'

'Believe me, I'm getting no pleasure from our chat,' he assured Jack, to which I gave Paul a nasty look.

'You heard him, little guy,' I snapped at him, 'I'm going on my little phone retrieval with him, not you. If you have a problem with that, I can make it so you'll have to get a _testicle_ retrieval.'

Again, Jack's face split into a huge grin.

Paul, with a very hard face, just stared at me. It was kind of, um, creepy.

'Okay,' I relented, and sighed. 'Jack, honey, I'll call you.'

Again, he laughed childishly.

With constantly blinking eyes, I exited the library with Paul.

'What?' I asked.

I felt that it was best to remain as detached from him as possible. Otherwise, there was NO way that he'd change his image that he had of me. You know, the "poor, defenseless, stupid, weak Susie."

I wasn't that.

Well, not all the time.

And I didn't want him to see me as that.

Why the hell I CARED what he thought about me, I didn't know.

I mean, I shouldn't have. But I guess I did.

How gay.

'Why the hell didn't you tell me about it?' he snapped angrily. 'I had a right to know, Suze. You had _plenty_ of opportunity to tell me, so what made you think you'd be all idiotic and not let me in on my JOB?'

'Oh, please,' I rolled my eyes. 'Get over it, already.' And I walked down the hall, as people, you know do. Walk down halls, I mean.

Only, I guess that on the rare occasion, people walking down halls get stopped by people bigger and more powerful than them. Because Paul totally grabbed my arm, and spun me back to face him.

'Is it because you didn't want to look bad, or something?' he demanded, his eyes glinting like a bunch of sharp knives.

'What?' I said, despite the fact that I'd heard him perfectly. I was stalling my answer. Of COURSE that was why I hadn't told him. Well, that and the fact that I didn't want HIM to look GOOD.

Which was basically the same thing, right?

YEAH.

'You don't want to look bad. Weak. That's why you didn't say anything to me,' he said, his jaw-line set stubbornly. I just blinked, as I do.

'No way,' I laughed nervously. 'I have to go make a phonecall, Paul. So, go back into the library, and carry on with your very nauseating socializing with your girlfriend, while I do the job that Jesse just asked me to do. Okay? Because seriously, his whole glaring thing is getting old.'

Paul angrily gripped my arm harder. 'Answer me. You didn't tell me because it was ME. You would have told Jack. You were going to FIND Jack. You don't TRUST me, Suze. How can I trust _you_?'

'You don't have to,' I said stiffly. 'I don't care if you trust me. It totally doesn't matter what you think of me.'

And yet, it did. I valued Paul's opinion more than I wanted to.

He laughed hollowly. 'Then why didn't you _say_ anything?' he tested. Before I could answer impatiently, he said, 'Exactly. You think that I'm going to take away this stupid victory thing that you have. You think I don't notice, Suze? How you're always competing? I notice, all right. And you know what?' he leaned in very close to me, so his lips were by my ear, and sending my body into subtle, sub-zero shivers, and whispered chillingly, like he was this satanic sex god, or something, '. . . I'm not going to let you win.'

I froze, for a moment.

I hoped his hand didn't feel the sudden chill of my small wrist. But I totally did. My whole body was suddenly really cold. My arms even had _goosebumps_.

Like, whoa.

I yanked my arm away from him, refusing to look at him. 'Piss off,' I said savagely. 'I'm not competing, with _you_. Ha. I laugh at the thought of you, ha, ha –'

Yet I didn't exactly sound that sure of what I was saying, you know?

Paul, giving me a half-satisfied, half-angry look, took a single step back, and crossed his arms coolly. 'Whatever you reckon, Suze,' he said simply. He TOTALLY knew what he'd just done. What he'd just made me feel. That he'd chilled me. Little did he know how much.

Like, my pride was kind of ice-solid now, too.

The fact that he was aware of the power he still had over me, was kind of scary. Okay, _really_ scary. Once again, I was forcefully reminded of how much I _didn't_ trust this man standing before me. Someone who I knew I couldn't anger, or else I would regret it severely.

I sighed, making as much noise as I could with one exhale of breath. 'I'm so glad that you've deprived me of an escort, Paul, namely your brother. I shall venture alone now. Go screw yourself – I mean, you know, see ya.'

And I tried to make a dramatic exit up the stairs, but he totally called to me, 'No, Suze. I'm coming, so you don't do anything ELSE wrong and then neglect to tell me about it.'

. . . Butt muncher.

Hmph!

'If you REALLY want to know,' I babbled, 'I didn't tell you because I was afraid you might exorcise them or something, especially after hearing that they dared layeth a hand on fair lady Danielle.' Quite a fib. I guess I just wanted him off my case.

But you know Paul. ALWAYS persistent, no matter what.

Surprisingly enough, Paul didn't try to defend himself. Which kind of left me to wonder . . . would he have exorcised them had he known at the time? What would happen if they came back for more?

From, you know. Danielle. Not me. He didn't give a shit about me.

Or even if he did . . . he would exorcise ghosts for me. Just, you know, pretend to care about a certain stalker that he believes I have.

In which his belief was kind of true.

Instead, Paul asked, 'How many of them were there?'

'Four. They were killed in the attic in 1969. Big fire. Nasty, nasty stuff, I tell you,' I answered casually.

Paul seemed slightly impressed. 'You must have done your homework, Suze.'

'Yeah.'

What I didn't tell him is that I was only able to find this information only after CeeCee practically pushed me in the library. Which made me feel kind of bad because, well, CeeCee spent most of her spare time in there researching, while I struck gold almost immediately.

I could have given her SOME credit, I suppose, but you don't understand how capable I felt with Paul's look of approval. Like maybe I'd finally get MY piece of Success Pie.

Paul's already had enough. Success Pie, I mean. He's got to fit in those high-priced business suits, you know? And Dani had a huge portion as well. She probably barfed it all up afterwards, though.

'What else do you know?' Paul asked, a penetrating gleam in his eye.

I hesitated for a moment. I didn't know quite how much to tell him. Part of me wanted this to be my proud secret; that I knew more about them than Paul did. But the other part of me was afraid of what Paul might do – or TELL – if I didn't divulge him in this knowledge.

I frowned in mock thought. 'One of them was called Robin, I think. Coulda been Robert. Gosh darn, Paul, I really don't know. You might want to ask their bed-buddy.'

Paul, yet again, dodged my comment. You know, for someone who is so hungry for knowledge, you'd think he'd be HAPPY I told him about Dani. I mean, I didn't exactly say "Hey Paul, your girlfriend wants to get in Jesse's pants. And Robin's, and Charles's, and Nathaniel's, AND I'm even sure she'd get it on with the little blonde one too."

I hinted strongly, though, and he wasn't even _questioning_ it. He obviously trusted Dani . . . a whole lot more than he should. It was like he was completely blind to the hungry stares, flirty winks she gives to Jesse, and even my obvious comments. Or else, he CHOSE not to see them.

But WHY? Why would he choose to put up with that? He could so dump her and go for someone who'd actually LOVE him.

Of course, who needs love when you're dating a supermodel? The sex probably made up for it.

. . . Ewww, Suze, ewww.

Paul saw right through me, and shot me a doubtful, 'Hmmm.'

Okay. This was annoying. He might as well know it all. I mean, if I didn't tell him, he'd probably get all mad at me AGAIN, and then probably sue me for something ridiculous that has a really long name that I couldn't pronounce and then he'd tell everyone about Cole and then my life would be an even bigger train wreck than it already was . . .

'Fine. Their names are Robin, Nathaniel, Charles, and Bart. They're all eighteen years old, except for little Bart, who's about seventeen. They supposedly committed suicide in the attic thirty years ago, and they all appear to be heterosexual,' I smiled. Paul scowled as I continued, 'At least, that's what Dani concludes. She also thinks they're pretty hot. Me? I like my older men. But you know? To each her own. Personally, I'm not into pedophilia.'

That just made me realize something . . .

I'm twenty-three. Jesse's twenty, thereabouts.

Oh great. How embarrassing.

I _AM_ a pedophile.

Joy.

'Why?' Paul asked, a smirk crawling across his face. 'Did they try to put the moves on you or something?'

. . . Shut up.

'Oh God, you and the Misforts have something in common,' I said with my trademark eyeroll. I continued up the stairs again, leaving him behind.

Paul jogged up the stairs ahead of me and stopped me with a wide grin. 'What's that supposed to mean? Good taste in women?'

Uh . . . what was _THAT_ supposed to mean? Was he serious?

'Actually, not so much,' I replied, in reference to Dani. Could he have picked anyone skankier or bitchier? Of course, it was also a little blow to myself as well. I mean, he liked me back in the day, and look how I turned out. Loser with a capital "L".

'I meant to say your, um, persistence. And, now that I think of it, your despicableness.'

Paul looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, Dani's shrill accent pierced the air-waves, calling, 'OoOOH Paulie, my pet! Honey!'

'Oh, damn,' I said, my words oozing with sarcasm. 'Go get her, champ.'

I didn't wait for a reply. Instead, I pushed Paul out of the way and went up the stairs the rest of the way. I heard Paul call back to Dani, 'Coming, sweetie.'

I swear, I almost peed in my pants laughing. SWEETIE? How unoriginal was THAT? He could have at least shown some creativity in his pet name. And the way he said it . . . it just didn't sound right. Paul's too businesslike and powerful to use cutesy pet names like _sweetie_. It was like he forced it out, just for show.

But I shouldn't talk. The only thing Cole ever called me was "you dirty little whore". On a good day, he'd call me a "nasty bitch".

Feel the love, ya'll.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

About an hour later, after a dinner of Adam's Macaroni Cheese, we found ourselves once again in the hospital waiting room. Paul was looking at an old issue of _Golf Digest_ while Dani's head rested lightly on his shoulder. Jack seemed content cracking jokes with Adam about celebrities on the cover of _People_ Magazine, while CeeCee continued writing her thesis on her laptop. Jesse hovered around, looking at everyone from a distance, occasionally disappearing and reappearing to check in on Father Dominic.

Hospitals kind of gave me the creeps. Not like the mall did or anything, but just the general jitters. Most of my experiences in the hospital were where I was the one in the hospital bed, hooked to IV's and being bandaged up.

Oh, and getting severely dumped. But that's a different story.

I flipped boredly through an outdated issue of _Family Circle_. I didn't have a family, and if things kept on they way they were, I didn't think I'd EVER get one. I mean, I can't even get a decent boyfriend. What good would learning how to cook a "Thanksgiving dinner even the kids will love" be?

But, I thought grimly, it keeps me from thinking about other things like painful memories that hospitals usually brought on.

Arguing, betrayal, tears, my life coming apart . . .

And then, I remembered something I hadn't reminisced about in a long time . . . that time Jesse touched my cheek after the RLS Angels had their way with me.

How warm the back of his hand felt against my cold, bruised cheek, how that was the only part of me undamaged, how much I wished my lips hadn't been split open where I had to get stitches, because I wanted to lay a big fat one on Jesse right then and there.

That was the moment I realized I was desperately in love with Jesse. Possibly the best thing that had ever happened in my life. My greatest happiness

Ironically enough, it turned out to be my greatest pain.

After being gone for about ten minutes, Jesse finally reappeared again, leaning against the wall. Just then, a pretty nurse with a wooden clipboard came out and asked, 'Are you lot here to see Father Dominic?'

I sat up immediately. 'Yes ma'am.'

The nurse glanced back at her clipboard. 'All right, then, you all can go in and see him now.'

I smiled at her and thanked her. Her light brown eyes lit up warmly as she said, 'Tell the good Father congratulations for me. Forty years in the ministry is a long time.'

Okay, so it took a little more convincing. Adam, even though his birthday idea was clever, he forgot one thing. Hospitals keep records. Lots of them. They know your name, social security number, and mother's maiden name. But they don't ask for date of ordination for priests.

Who's the creative one now?

We went down the hallway a ways, until we were at Father D's room. I remembered it from the last time we visited. It was still pure white as ever, and spotlessly clean, just as the pretty nurse's uniform.

Father Dominic looked incredibly weak as he lay limply on the bed. His breath was slow but shallow, almost like a small pant. They had him hooked up to all sorts of crazy monitors that beeped and flashed with each movement he made.

As we came in the door, Father Dominic lifted his hand wearily. His tired voice said softly but enthusiastically, 'Well, hello there! What a surprise, to see you all!' He flashed us a smile; weary but at the same time incredibly bright.

I immediately rushed to his bedside. I could barely stand seeing Father Dom like this. I felt anger – no RAGE. Who would do this to a PRIEST? Or to anyone for that matter?

I think I had an idea of who it was, too. Four extremely possible suspects flew through my mind, which made me even more enraged.

As I looked at Father Dom, I couldn't help but notice how much older he looked now than he ever had. I mean, the rumor going around the Mission was that Father Dom grew more handsome by the decade. It was totally true, too. His pale blue eyes never lost their vibrancy, and his pure white hair was complimented by a healthy, rosy complexion. His face wasn't overrun with liver spots or wrinkles. He was perfect, for an old guy.

But now his blue eyes looked strained and tired, and his white hair only served to make his pale face even paler. The only thing that was the same about Father Dom was his smile, which remained even though he was in visible pain.

'It's so nice to see you all here,' Father Dominic said, adjusting himself so that he was sitting up a little. 'I was quite wondering if you had forgotten about me.'

An unbearable silence followed, each of us afraid to be the bearer of bad news. Father D, after all, had no idea about the discovery. Someone had to tell him. That's why we were here in the first place.

No one stirred. It became quite evident that if I didn't make a move, no one else would. I didn't want to tell him, though. His energy, I believed, should have gone to his rehabilitation, not to worrying. What if it sent him in shock? I wouldn't want the guy to have a spaz attack, now would I?

But I guess if you're going to have one, you might as well have it in the hospital.

It turns out, no one needed to speak up because Father Dom was able to catch on that there was something wrong, just in our silence.

'What's the matter? What happened?'

'We found them, Father D,' I replied solemnly.

'You mean the . . . the-'

'Ghosts. Yeah.'

Father Dom's pale blue eyes scanned the other members of the SIA for answers. Adam looked instantly at the ground, CeeCee bit her lower lip, Dani coughed uncomfortably, and Jack busied himself by trying to get the black scuff marks off the pure white floor by using the rubber soles of his All Stars. I noticed that Jesse and Paul were the only ones that accompanied me at Dommy's bedside; Paul at my left and Jesse at my right.

'I knew it was a matter of time before he would show himself,' Father Dom said.

Oh. I had to be the bearer of bad news . . . again. 'Actually . . . When I said ghosts? I meant that. You know. The "s" thing and all.'

'There are more than one?' rasped Father D.

Jesse shuffled closer. 'I am afraid so, Padre.'

He went a little white. Well, whiter than before. Which was kind of saying something. You know? 'Oh my. How do you suppose we are to deal with this?'

'We were kind of hoping you'd have the answer to that question,' Paul said, sounding unusually uncomfortable.

Father Dom's eyes widened considerably. 'Oh dear . . . oh my.'

Oh my is right.

Well, I was going for "Holy shit," but this guy is kind of blessed. So he has to keep a good profile, as far as profanity goes.

Unless, you know, his computer is malfunctioning.

Whatever.

Father D looked kind of thoughtful, in a shocked way. He kept blinking, which was weird. Probably because he wasn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes probably hurt. His glasses were on the bedside table, and I almost reached over to go get them for him to put on, but I noticed that he wasn't even looking at anyone. More like, at his bed sheets. But you know, _past_ them.

'How many?' he asked after a moment.

'Four,' Paul said curtly. 'Well, according to Suze.'

Yeah, Paul. Say it is if your source is dodgy a little MORE, why don't you?

Honestly.

'Well?' I shifted a little to the right, before realizing that I was getting closer to Jesse, and then promptly moving back. 'What do we do? Can you like, drop God a line, or something, and ask him how the hell we work this out?'

'Susannah,' murmured Jesse in a gentle warning.

I ignored him, keeping my face hard.

Father Dom shook his head. 'I honestly have no idea, Susannah. Are they . . . violent?'

'Yeah,' Paul nodded. 'They've tried to kill Suze twice.'

'Twice?' asked Jesse suddenly, with a frown.

'UMMM,' I said pointedly, 'You mean ONCE, Paul.' I gave a nervous laugh, and a glare, 'That time with the dumbwaiter doesn't COUNT. You know? That was Jack, not me.'

JESSE DID NOT KNOW ABOUT THE DROWNING THING. JESSE WOULD _NOT_ KNOW ABOUT THE DROWNING THING!

ESPECIALLY not about the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Paul gave me a wry smile. 'My mistake.'

. . . Grrr.

'I still advise you _not_ to perform exorcism,' Father Dom instructed with a firmness in his tone.

I rolled my eyes. 'Can't we just – '

'No.'

'But they're – '

'No, Susannah.'

'What if – '

'Suze, shut up,' Paul snapped at me. He looked back to the Good Father, who was looking at me severely. 'Susannah, if you are even considering exorcising these ghosts, please put that idea out of your mind. Have I not taught you mediation skills suitable enough?'

'I'm a shifter,' I corrected him, a little distantly. I crossed my arms. 'Not a mediator.'

Father Dom paused for a moment. 'Beside the point, Susannah. You are NOT to do anything drastic. Paul, please keep her in line?'

'Oh, I will,' the corners of Paul's lips perked up in mirth.

Oh, and if I played up? What would PAUL do? _Spank_ me?

. . . I did not just think that.

Shit, I did.

_. . . Eww._

Well, this was kind of a useless conversation. I mean, I already knew that I was forbidden to do exorcism. It was like, taboo. Totally. Not that, you know, anyone could DO anything about it if I did. Honestly, what was so bad? Ghost is dickhead. Suze is pissed. Ghost is bye-bye. End of short, sweet story.

Someone point out what is WRONG with this plan?

No one?

. . . Exactly.

And PAUL was just standing there, acting like EXORCISM wasn't first thing on HIS mind. Of COURSE it was. Seriously, he was acting like this noble saint, or something, whenever he was in front of our old principal. Like he WASN'T contemplating just booting these ghosts to their next plane of existence.

I totally knew he was.

But he obviously liked the fact that Father Dominic seemed to be putting him somewhat in charge.

Father D?

Cool guy.

Holy person.

_Baaaaad_ judge of character.

'Can I have some money?' Jack asked. 'There's a vending machine outside.'

I dug my hand into my pockets.

No coins.

Oh, how embarrassing.

Hang on, oh yeah. I'm poor, aren't I?

Prince Paul fished a dollar bill out of his leather wallet, and Jack snatched it with a hurried "thanks" before hightailing it.

'I'll go with him, and make sure he doesn't get anything too fattening,' Dani said luxuriously, as if she was doing something incredibly admirable. Paul winced a little as she exited the room.

'So, the plan is to, what?' I snapped. 'Sit around, and get our asses kicked?'

'No,' Father Dominic said, sounding really exhausted. As if I was sucking the life out of him. 'You will talk to them. _In groups_,' he added, sending me a reprimanding glance. 'Susannah, listen to me when I say that now is not the time to attempt any acts of nobility. If these ghosts are well aware of their capability to kill, then you are in danger. But I believe that I am correct in saying you would sooner offer to be crucified in Christ's place, than to move out and not do anything about this.'

I gave him an awkward look.

Um, _thanks_ Father D, for telling everyone about my desire to be a heroine.

I'm sure everyone will just totally forget about that now.

Not.

I should have told him this in confession, and THEN he wouldn't have been able to repeat it in the presence of other peoples. Jeez. Did this dude shut up about how SEE-THROUGH I apparently was?

With a grumpy look in his direction, I muttered, 'Well, I think that we've established our action plan. One which we were going to do anyway. So coming here was a waste of time.'

Father Dom looked a little hurt at that.

I felt a little bad. As if I was making out like coming here just to see him was totally unimportant to me. 'I didn't mean it like that,' I sighed. 'Just . . . you know. Your plan wasn't exactly a revelation.'

Paul looked at his watch. 'It's getting late, Father. We'd better hit the road. And Adam and CeeCee want to stop off at a 24 hour gas station to, you know, get milk and other supplies.'

Namely, liquor. But Father Dom didn't need to know that.

Adam nodded, and wiggled his eyebrows at CeeCee. 'Milk is good.'

'You'd know,' Paul grinned.

. . . Um . . . eww?

The scary thing? I actually GOT that joke.

And Paul being gross?

Yeah. Not exactly my comfort zone.

'Anyway, we're going to go,' Paul shrugged, turning around, and straightening his tie – YES HE WAS BACK IN A SUIT, THE FREAK.

'Wait,' Father Dom said suddenly. 'Susannah . . . stay a moment, might I have a word?'

It seems like everyone would like a word with me nowadays. Only, these words turned out not to be so nice, if you know what I mean.

I groaned. 'But, um, you know, we have to go and all, Father Dom. So maybe later –'

'Nah, Suze, stay,' Paul stated nastily. He was obviously hoping that I'd get scolded some more. Which he was probably right in saying.

But whatever.

So yeah. Everyone conveniently shuffled out of the room, leaving me to Father Dom's heavenly wrath.

Amen.

Father D looked pretty menacing for someone in white hospital blankies. 'Susannah, sit.'

'I'm fine standing – '

'Please, sit,' he ordered, rather than asked.

I grabbed the chair CeeCee formerly occupied and pulled it close to the hospital bed, taking a seat.

Father Dom gave this big sigh. 'Where have you gone?'

I found this to be a slightly perplexing question. 'Um . . . you just told me to sit, and I kind of you know . . . went to the nearest chair, and stuff – '

Maybe I SHOULD have given him his glasses?

'No, Susannah,' he sighed. 'Where has this sixteen year old Susannah gone.'

Oh. _Her_ again.

I regarded aloofly all of a sudden.

'She's dead,' I said shortly. 'Get used to it.'

He sighed, looking kind of sad. 'No, Susannah. She is not. You are not two different people. You are just hiding the vibrancy of your old self, I rather think. Smothering who you could actually be.'

No. No way. He did NOT just say that it was ME who was killing the old Suze.

a) She was DEAD.

And b) I DIDN'T KILL HER.

JESSE DID.

And he claimed that he was no murderer. Maybe not physically. But there were worse things than death. Sometimes, even life could be more of a punishment.

I was living proof.

And the fading bruise on my cheek was evidence.

I didn't say anything to the priest that lay in front of me.

Father . . . why did they call priests of the Catholic Church "Father"? What? Was he suddenly this perfect father-figure that I could go to with all of my problems? Did he think that he had all the answers? The perfect advice for me? My remedy?

I think not.

I stood up. 'No, you mean, who I _could_ have been,' I corrected him.

'No, Susannah,' he said. 'I do not stand corrected. You heard what I said. It is not too late. Nothing is too late. You make it seem like there is no hope for you. I am aware that you are . . . ' he frowned, obviously trying not to say either "depressed" or "a major loser, at the current time," '. . . going through something – ' Nice recovery – 'that is difficult for you. But you are twenty-three years old. You life does not simply end.'

Unless a black, muscly eighteen year old member of the dead offs you.

But you know, what are the odds?

'So?' I said quietly. 'Who cares if it does?'

. . . That wasn't supposed to come out like that . . . I wasn't meant to sound suicidal. I was NOT going to kill myself. Just, you know, really, how much would it affect the world if someone else did it for me?

Not all that much.

Father Dom sighed. He looked even more tired. Weariness of the mind, and spirit. I was testing his faith. 'Susannah . . . life is not some competition that you must undertake in order to get to an award. Life _is_ the award. And frivolous misuse was not God's intent for such a precious gift.'

'DON'T bring that guy into it,' I bit at him. 'I do not misuse life, Father D. I'm just, you know, waiting for it to get a little better before I start smiling a little more.'

'It won't get better if you do not try, Susannah,' he groaned. 'You must put in the effort, to produce a worthy result.'

I think that they'd given him _waaaaaay_ too much morphine.

'What if it's not worth all of the work?' I asked. 'What if I have been working my ass off, trying to make a new life for myself, but it's just not the same?'

Father Dom tried to interject, 'Susannah –'

'You don't understand,' I silenced him by making a swift motion with my hand. 'Father Dom . . . it'll _never_ be the same. Ever again.'

'No, Susannah,' Father Dom said in stern manner that seemed to take a lot of energy from him, 'I think it is _you_ that doesn't understand. These trials, they are only temporary. Just as temporary as life itself. If there is one thing I have learned in my many years, Susannah, is that these things will come to pass in their own time.'

'I used to think so, Father Dom. But now that _he's_ here, I –'

Sometimes, I need to just keep my mouth closed. If not naturally, at least with the aid of heavy-duty duct tape or superglue. Stitches would work, wouldn't it?

I didn't mean to use pronouns. It just slipped out. And now, I was certain, Dommykins knew. About how Jesse being here was really affecting me. I half expected the same speeches Father Dom used to give me in high school, about sexual purity and how it would never work out, and crap.

You know?

Stupid lecture, like "bashing ghosts is _wroooong_, Susannah."

I did get a speech. But not one I expected. I totally wasn't prepared for it.

'Susannah. I know that when someone leaves, whether it is for a few years or forever, it is still hard to accept. First, you blame it on yourself, and then you place the blame on the other person. The truth is that it is no one's fault, except for maybe time. You just have to realize that even if that person is no longer part of your life, your life is still worth living because it is only what you make of it. You can continue it, making adjustments for a life without that person, or you can hang on it forever and tumble down an emotional mountain. I had to do that, Susannah. I had to move on, just as she had . . . '

Father Dom took a long pause to breathe. He looked even more tired than he did before. It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about. The woman he once loved. Or, should I say, the _ghost_ of the woman he once loved.

Oh, God.

I went very still.

'Oh, Father Dom,' I choked. I gave him a look of pure sympathy, but he just closed his eyes.

'I – I'm very tired, Susannah. I think it is best you go back with the others.'

A small gasp escaped my throat. I suppressed it the best I could, as Father Dom blinked wearily from his bed. He waved his hand to dismiss me, but instead I took it in my own.

His hand was cold. Just as cold as my heart. Father Dom's hand was never cold. He was always supposed to be warm. Why was he cold? Was it because of the things that he was just reliving?

. . . Duh, Suze.

I felt extremely guilty. In my own problems, I had caused Father Dom to look back at painful memories. I felt his pain. His unbearable pain . . .

Father Dominic fell asleep. His breathing became slow and steady, in and out and in and out . . .

And that's when I realized my eyes were wet. Crying, not only because of the guilt, but because Father Dom was right. I needed to move on.

But how did Father Dom manage? He became a _priest_. And even though his service to the Church had been so faithful, and he had a great many people who respected him . . . he wasn't happy. I _knew_ he wasn't happy.

That optimism, that smile . . . it was his way of coping. He was coping, but deep inside, he could never move on.

Would it be the same for me?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

I was feeling kind of distant as Adam drove me and CeeCee home. Posh and Becks – I mean, Dani and Paul, had taken the Jaguar. Namely Paul's car. Um . . . yeah. Logical, no?

Hmm.

I was kind of _dying of gratitude_ that I wasn't stuck in the same AUTOMOBILE as the Royals. Because, Dani had broken a nail at the hospital. A fake nail. But still, she was going on and on about it. Honestly. She was like, 'I cannot sodding believe it! It was a centimeter long!'

Ugh metric.

To which I replied, incredulously, 'You _measure_?'

To which she scoffed, 'Why not?'

To which I raised my brows, 'Well, then again, it's not that weird. I'm sure Paul measures. Just, you know, not his nails.'

To which Paul gave me a very frost look, and refused to speak to me.

I muttered something about P.M.S. and he totally tugged Dani out of the hospital entrance, and said to CeeCee that he'd see us back at the school.

So, with Paul and his pre-menstrual stress, and Dani's need for a manicure, I was very glad that I was not sharing a car with them.

You know?

And, yet, I felt so strange as I walked back into the school. As if, in the hospital, I was out in the real world. And back in Fortunaschwein, I was in an alternate reality, again. Part of a video game. Or a plot that had already been written.

It wasn't exactly a feeling that thrilled my pants off.

I certainly hope NOTHING thrilled my pants off.

Ewww.

Whatever. It had been a kind of long night. I mean, yay. Father Dom knew I was depressive because of Jesse. Wow. I'm so happy. Not.

And yeah, I was worried about him too.

Father Dom, I mean. God, not Jesse.

Father D seemed really upset. About, you know, his spectral ex. And I felt so bad about making him remember her. I mean, I knew heartache, of that category, specifically. It didn't tickle. Oooh, no. And the fact that I now definitely knew that Father Dom wasn't this happy, holy _homo sapien_. He was still grieving over lost love. Love that he knew he'd never find again. That he wouldn't LET himself have, again.

In respect for this girl – no, woman's memory.

And hey, just so he'd REMEMBER that, he went and got himself _PRIESTIFIED_.

Um, I mean, ordained.

Same thing.

What was eating me was, would I be like that? Would I ever fall in love again? And if I did, would it be any different? Or would it be all the same? Heartbreak, tears, silence, solitude, avoidance, suffering, all over again.

And no one to share it with.

Love was different for everyone.

Just, mine would always be cursed.

Lucky me.

But whatever. I crawled into a change of clothes, namely, pajamas, sparing a thought to who did the washing around here, when I realized I was too tired to think about laundry.

So yeah. With a yawn, I was just tugging my Lycra tank top on, when –

CRASH.

I jumped in alarm, and spun around accusingly, looking for the culprit.

But there was no one there.

This really nice looking terra cotta vase that used to be on the dressing table, where the mirror was, had smashed on the ground. It had been old. Like, antique and stuff.

Now it was in a hundred, thousand pieces at my bare feet.

I looked at it with wide eyes.

. . . Because, what was most disturbing, was the four flowers that were strewn amidst the shards of ceramics.

Four dead flowers.

In fact, they were burnt.

And then I realized.

The Misfortunates were here.

Four burnt flowers? Yeah. Nice one, guys. Okay, yeah, you burnt to death. I got it. Who cares? It's really getting kind of boring n –

Wait.

They had seen me in the nude again.

EWWW.

_PERVS_!

'Get out!' I snapped, furious. I self-consciously clamped my hands over my chest. Something that had been out in public about five minutes ago.

Oh, Jesus. Eww, eww.

You know how I always feel cold? Well, I didn't then. I felt very hot.

And not in a good way.

I heard soft sniggering, but could see no one. Cowards.

But I kind of guessed that they hadn't exactly left, when the pieces of broken terracotta began to float. The sharps danced around me, circling me, and teasing me.

Laughing at me.

I picked up one of the pillows from the bed where my day clothes were strewn. I held it out in self-defence.

Wow. That'll help, Suze.

'I have a pillow, and I'm not afraid to use it!' I threatened.

Um, yeah Suze. And they had SHARP PIECES OF CLAY.

This was _SO_ not fair.

The pillow was ripped from my very fingers, by an unseen force. I was very offended, with my, 'Hey!' but was kind of, you know, stiff when all of the ceramic pieces zoomed at my FACE.

'_Oi_!' I yelled, ducking in horror.

When I looked up again, the vase shards weren't floating. They were on the ground. Forming the messy words, "Ha, Ha."

My blood ran cold, as my light switch suddenly flicked off.

'Okay, um, this isn't funny anymore,' I said awkwardly, backing to my bedroom door as I spoke. The darkness that my room had been plunged into was intoxicating. I swallowed a mouthful of nothing, and my throat was sand-dry. 'Not that it was ever, but . . . you know. Because you have a totally _gay_ sense of humour, I hope you realize that. So, I'll let you be funny. Yeah. You can totally trash my room, okay? But I, um, I'm going to get some water, or something. Later, guys – '

As I backed into the door, I grabbed the knob. But, it was locked. Which was kind of strange, because last time I checked, the door didn't HAVE a lock.

You know?

'This is getting old, ladies,' I rolled my eyes.

I twisted the handle some more, getting pissed. This would be fine. Suze? Just your regulation haunting. Nothing to worry about. Meh. They would totally lay off as soon as –

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! SHIT!

BLOOD!

I squealed in abstract horror, at the scarlet blood that was splashed heavily on my hands. It was on the door knob too. I jerked away from the door. 'Eww! EWW!' I wiped it madly on my pajama pants . . . it was spreading . . . dark, red, wet, thick . . .

Blood was sadistically emerging across the walls. My heart was in my throat.

Did I mention I have a little thing with BLOOD?

I mean, you know, GREAT AMOUNTS OF IT?

The blood was saying the same thing.

Everywhere.

". . . _HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA_ . . . "

Everywhere.

Over, and over, and over and over again . . .

'This is a joke that I SO don't get,' I yelled, moving away from the walls. There was no Dani to distract them now.

The written laughter was surrounding me, and the redness of the blood seemed horribly dark. The shadows drenched the words, and made everything seem deadly, and consuming. The "_Ha Ha_'s" were drowning me. My throat clenched, and I felt like I was about to swallow my tongue.

Because I couldn't get out of this frigging room.

'Hello? It's called SLEEP-TIME,' I said through gritted teeth. 'Yeah, um, people with a HEARTBEAT need it.'

. . . That was when I heard the sound of gentle sloshing. Like someone was walking through a wading pool, or something.

I stopped, and my heart went _kaboom_.

I looked down at my feet.

Water.

My room was filled with an inch-deep pool of WATER.

. . . WHAT THE HELL?!

My face went blank. That was when something started swirling from my feet, churning rapidly into the dark, shallow water.

More blood.

My blood, it seemed.

I started breathing faster, and faster, and faster –

THE WATER WAS COMPLETELY RED.

I started shaking. 'Stop it! I'm serious! Look, see my face? Pissed. I am pissed. You've seen this face before, you're seeing it _now_. I'm PISSED . . . _off_.'

Seeing that the water – no, the BLOOD, was starting to pour upwards, so it was passing my ANKLES, and there were now WAVES, I desperately ran for the door again.

What? I wasn't going to LET this happen. That DOOR was going to get its SHIT kicked out of it if it DIDN'T HAPPEN.

AND THE DOOR DIDN'T EVEN _HAVE_ SHIT!

I tried the knob again, but, _noooo_, not _blood_.

Nah. Just, oh, I dunno, the door handle was FRIGGING SCORCHING.

'Shit!' I withdrew my hand rapidly, as soon as the searing sensation shot up my arm, 'Shit, shit!'

It was burnt, bleeding, blackened, and –

. . . It was normal again. My hand, I mean. All an illusion.

'THIS IS NOT FUNNY!' I snarled. I kicked at the door, but it was too hot.

THEN, THE DAMNED THING BURST INTO FLAMES.

'AAAAAH!' I screamed, and staggered back, splashing in the pool of red.

". . . _HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. . . _"

Burning.

This room was on fire.

Smoke gushed into the room, and I began choking. Drowning in blood and smoke.

'STOP IT!'

But they didn't stop. They didn't. My body was soaked in red. I couldn't move. Then, my hand that I was flailing around, was suddenly grabbed by something.

A scorching hand. My arm felt like it had been BRANDED by an IRON. I could see the handprint.

With horrified eyes, I was screaming . . .

' . . . **_JESSE!_"**

I swear to GOD, I didn't mean to call him. It came out! I swear, I didn't mean to. He was the LAST person I would call these days.

EVER AGAIN.

Yet, it was his name that I screamed out.

And then, it all stopped.

. . . I was lying on my back, on the floor. The air was clean. The fire was gone. The red blood wasn't there. The burns didn't hurt any longer.

And, oh yeah. Jesse was standing over me, looking down at my expression of raw fear, with his scarred eyebrow quirked. Unsurely, he asked, 'Susannah? Susannah, are you all right?'

IN THE HEAD?

I scrambled up in a wild frenzy, pointing with feral accusation. 'IT WAS RIGHT HERE!' I yelled in fury, panting. 'WHERE DID IT GO?!

'Where did what go?' Jesse asked quietly, his low volume contrasting with my own. He looked around the room with suspicion. Everything was fine. No more blood, no more menacing "_HA HA HA HA's_."

Nothing.

I glared at my hands. No burns. No bleeding. My clothes were dry, and not a bit stained with red. 'But I – they . . . ' I put my hand on my head, still trying to remember how to breathe properly. 'It seemed so real.'

Illusion.

It had been an illusion.

. . . I'd never seen one that seemed so deadly.

My God. This house – this _school_, it was under a possession so demonic that the ghosts haunting it could alter reality, perception, sound, sensation, and everything that I thought I knew.

It was terrifying.

I'd never met ghosts with such power.

They weren't ghosts, I concluded. They were frigging POLTERGIESTS.

Their death had been horrifying.

It must have.

'What did, Susannah?' Jesse's voice was pure, curious, and slightly concerned.

Yeah. While my heart was about to blow up, it was pumping so much.

Lots of goo, peoples.

I sat on the end of my bed, in a complete daze. I was shaken up. I licked my lips. They were dry. My whole body was dry. Not saturated.

It hadn't been real.

'Um . . . you know, nothing. Just, uh, the usual. Your regulation haunting,' I laughed nervously. My giggle was thin, and scared, still. 'Sorry I called. You can go now, if you want – '

YOU MOST CERTAINLY CAN NOT.

' – I, um, get freaked out by blood, that's all. Uh, even if the blood doesn't _exist_,' I babbled, staring at my hands, laughing shrilly still. 'I mean, its kind of gross when you think that it's _your_ blood, and stuff, and you know, dying from blood loss would TOTALLY suck, and I was just, you know, worried because the door was kind of um, on fire, and I – '

My voice crackled, and died.

Oh my God. How embarrassing.

My face was aflame. A cold sweat doused my brows, and my upper lip, and my forehead.

Shut up.

I was _freaked_, okay?!?

Jesse walked quietly across the still room. He came to a halt when he saw the broken vase. No flowers.

It was the only sign that there had been a disruption in my bedroom.

Not that it was mine. Oh, no. It probably used to belong to one of the Misfortunates themselves.

Haunting hot spot.

'It was them, wasn't it?' Jesse said grimly.

NO SHIT, SHERLOCK.

'Nah, I just looked at the vase, and it blew up, Jesse,' I said with vicious sarcasm.

Jesse blinked down, sighed, and then concentrated on the broken pieces. They levitated, and then all landed in a very neat pile on the dresser, so there were no sharp bits for me to trip on.

'Nifty,' I said, in a strangled voice.

Then he turned back to me, and came to stand over me. I inhaled a deep breath, and held it obstinately. The shadowed realms of his face were intense. Godly. Exquisite. Dark. 'What happened, Susannah?'

I laughed a little. 'That's just it. _Nothing_ happened.'

Illusion.

'You called,' Jesse said shortly. 'Did they appear again?'

'Nope,' I shrugged.

Okay, um, feeling even MORE stupid.

How GAY was this?! SCARED by something that wasn't even THERE.

Jesse took a step closer to me, sitting on the bed. I leant back instinctively, and released the breath that I'd taken hostage before. 'That is all then, Susannah?'

I looked down. No it wasn't. 'Um . . . Jesse?'

I was stampeding all over my dignity and pride as I uttered those words.

Jesse paused, before saying graciously, 'Yes, Susannah?'

'Uh . . . you wouldn't be able to – ' I looked up at him, at his face, so gorgeous, so dead, so noble, so reminiscent. This man broke my heart. ' . . . Never mind.'

I could FEEL him smiling. He was going to make me crawl. 'What is it, Susannah?'

I swallowed. Hard.

'Well, you know, you're probably, you know . . . um, busy . . . doing, er, stuff, and all so nah, you . . . I mean, if you wanted to, or whatever, which you WOULDN'T, I mean . . . I can _so_ handle myself, if I . . . it's just –' I stopped stumbling with my words, and just looked up at him with pleading eyes.

I was begging.

Again.

Oh, God no . . .

'My only business here is to protect the living. It is, after all, my duty,' Jesse said gently.

'Um,' I answered intelligently. 'Cool.'

It was freezing. Yet I felt like I was in a chamber of flames, perishing.

'If, you know, you didn't mind or whatever – '

'It is all right. I shall stay,' Jesse assured me.

I began to say something incoherent, as my cheeks flushed again, when Jesse added, 'To keep watch, Susannah.'

YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT, BUSTER.

'Um . . . good idea,' I smiled weakly. 'Glad you, um, thought of it.' I coughed. 'So, er, I'm going to . . . you know, sleep – '

Jesse held out his hand to me. I stared at him like he was an alien in a fluorescent pink bikini for a second, before accepting it. Darkness. He lightly pulled me to my feet, and smiled down at me, wordlessly.

I just blinked up at him like the loser I was.

A moment. Frozen.

'Goodnight, Susannah,' he whispered.

I couldn't say a word. My heart was in my throat.

After another moment, immobilized by time, Jesse took his hand away. He walked very slowly, and definitely to the window, small though it was.

'If you need me, Susannah, I will be here. By your window,' he told me. 'Like old times.'

Pain. Years of pain.

My face was deadpan. 'Um . . . okay.'

By my window.

Where was he, those years?

He wasn't BY MY WINDOW, THEN.

Daintily, I staggered or hobbled or waddled or something, to my bed, slipping under the covers. Jesse's familiar glow was cast over me.

It took me a while to calm down, and fall asleep. Jesse didn't say a word.

And I think I was already dreaming, by the time I thought I heard someone say, '. . . _Querida . . ._'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

With love,

Lolly and Hayley.


	16. Headquarters

Yeah, we know. We've been ages. Our apologies, we've had a lot going on.

You wanna know if this is P/S or J/S?

Guess what.

WE'RE NOT TELLING. SO THERE!!!

Manic laughter.

- 8 -

'Take a seat, Suze,' a deep, masculine voice purred in my ear. 'Make yourself comfortable. I'll go get some drinks.'

I opened my eyes, and I was instantly transported into a small, dimly lit room. There was nothing inside the room, except for a couch surrounded by pillows and a few miscellaneous papers. A normal apartment, as far as my standards went. Set up by a small window was a canvas with an unfinished painting of a city-scape, obviously inspired just by the view.

I did just as I was told, taking a seat on the couch and crossing my legs, trying to look as sophisticated as possible. I noticed that I was wearing my favorite black Jessica McClintock dress made of this gorgeous shimmery material. I liked it, for some reason, because it reminded me a little of the Shadowland, a place I had come to know so well over the years due to my sudden incompetence of being a shifter. Instead of using it as a last resort, the Shadowland became my crutch. My support because I could no longer handle what tortures my ability, and my LIFE, threw at me.

I took another look around the tiny apartment. The walls were kind of a dreary gray color, but they looked waaay more welcoming than the mocha colored walls at Starbucks.

Sure, Starbucks _looks_ hip. But its chic, modern style was all too cold for my liking. The dark green apron I was forced to wear was like a heavy ball-and-chain, capturing me and making me the slave of this horrible nightmare I wanted more than anything to wake up from.

I was presented with a glass of sparkling champagne. I frowned, but I took it graciously, looking up to the person who gave it to me, saying, 'Thanks, but I don't drink that much . . . '

I almost dropped my glass. Cole Kennedy stood there, looking great in his classy burgundy dress shirt and black slacks, holding in his hands a bottle of very expensive looking Piper Heidsieck.

My stomach fluttered with something familiar. Something I used to enjoy, but now was completely afraid of, for no good has ever come of those feelings. _Nothing_.

'I mean, um . . . great,' I corrected myself instantly.

Cole took a seat next to me and poured a very generous amount of champagne in his glass. He cleared a space to put the bottle on his coffee table, and then took initiative to scoot closer.

'Beautiful night, isn't it?' he asked, his voice dipping low.

'Yeah,' I agreed, crossing my legs restlessly and taking a deep breath. Not that you could really tell or anything, with the only window in the room being covered and all. I shot Cole a weak smile.

I noticed Cole taking a big swig of champagne. Most people, when they drink it, taste a little at a time and let the drink have time to sit. But Cole had already downed his first glass, and was getting ready to pour another.

If there's one thing you notice about Cole Kennedy, it's that he doesn't talk a whole lot. I never minded much, because I just thought it was part of the whole 'mysterious artist' persona he had going for him. It was almost the reason I liked him in the first place. He wasn't overly sweet, nor was he too absorbed in himself.

Two qualities I avoided in men. Trust me, I had already been through it all once.

But then, he finally did. Talk, I mean. He told me in a slow, low voice, 'You look hot tonight, Susie.'

I really didn't know how to respond to that. I was so caught off guard that I totally dismissed the fact that he called me "Susie". I mean, what do you say to that?

You wanna know what I said?

I replied, 'Um, you too.'

Lame. You don't have to tell me twice.

'That dress,' he continued breathlessly, 'it just looks so amazing on you. It's almost breathtaking.'

Cole began playing with one of the straps on my dress, moving it around in his fingers. I could have sworn he said he liked how I looked in the dress. Why did he seem to want to take it off of me then?

I was getting very hot. I tried to talk for a second, but it came out as a croak. I tried again; 'C-Cole?'

'Yeah, beautiful? Anything wrong?'

_Beautiful._ I liked how that sounded. But not right now. Not from Cole, especially. Not from _him, now_. I was meant to hear it form someone else. Someone else who didn't even care.

'Let's see what's on the TV,' I suggested with a bright, over-exaggerated smile, moving back a little bit so Cole wouldn't get the wrong idea.

But as I took the remote, Cole's giant hand clasped over mine and gently made me put the remote down. I brought my eyes up to his slowly, and I saw for the first time the thing I should have seen all along.

_Danger._

'Tonight is a special night for me. I mean, for _us_,' he corrected himself quickly. 'Just look at you, all dressed up. Let's make it magical, Suze. Just you and me. No TV.'

And for extra emphasis, Cole knocked the remote onto the ground and kicked it far, far away.

'Scrabble?' I offered lamely.

'Not quite,' Cole answered. He was sitting so close now, that I could smell the champagne on his breath when he talked. 'I was thinking something a little more like this . . . '

And with that, Cole leaned in and stole a deep, precious kiss from me.

If you've never been kissed before, let me tell you, it feels good. Especially when you've been severely dissed in the past. I mean, the electricity, the power . . . giving and taking . . .

But Cole seemed to be more of a taker. I felt weak in his arms, as he took the kiss to new depths.

'Cole, I – '

I was being claimed. I was Cole's for the taking.

. . . But I didn't _want_ to be.

'Please, this isn't – '

And you know what scared me more than anything? There was nothing I could do about it. I wasn't the same girl that I used to be. I didn't have the same nerve to jab my thumb in the offender's eye.

And besides, girlies, this was no seventeen-year-old whose hormones went a little wacky. Cole was a fully-grown, fine specimen of twenty-three-year-old man. You know: 6-something, 195 pounds of muscle . . .

And what was I? A possession. A pathetic little girl. BOTH.

Before I had more of a chance to protest, Cole's hands found the strap of my dress again. But this time, instead of teasing me by playing with it, he was actually tugging it . . . pushing the strap so it fell helplessly at my shoulder.

With a pained groan, I exploded from Cole's reach, shoving him back a little and scooting to the complete other side of the couch. In fact, I was almost sitting on the armrest; that's how far I wanted to get away from him.

But far isn't far enough for Cole.

'Cole, what is WITH you?' I demanded, placing a shaking hand on my chest. My heart was pounding, I noticed.

'Nothing, gorgeous,' Cole stared at me innocently from the opposite end of the couch. 'Is there anything wrong?'

'Um, _yeah_? . . . What are you trying to do?' I asked abruptly.

Cole shifted cunningly on the couch until he was, again, sitting close to me. 'Isn't this what you wanted?' Cole inquired, his gray eyes filled with confusion.

I stared at him, going a little stiff. 'Cole. This is too fast.'

'No worries,' Cole said as he began tracing circles along my bare shoulder. 'I can go slower.' I bit my lip in a furious effort to disregard the tickling, half-deadly half-pleasant sensation scuttling across my arm.

'Just stop,' I tried to say strongly, but my voice creaked. It wasn't fair. Why does my voice give out when I need it the most? 'Really, Cole. I should be getting back to my apartment. I have work tomorrow.'

'Stay. Please, Suze. I've had a rough week and I really _need_ you,' Cole pleaded, his full lower lip pouting in a pity-me-I'm-a-wounded-animal-who-apparently-needs-head way.

_He'd_ had a rough week? What about me? I've had countless rough days. But now I noticed that this had nothing to do with me. This was Cole. It was _always_ about Cole.

. . . I don't think it's ever been about me.

With that realization, I stumbled off the couch and onto my feet, using the armrest on the couch for support. I nearly fell over. I cleared my throat and said pretty strongly, 'Cole, I'm not ready for _that_ . . . '

'What do you _mean_, you aren't ready?' Cole asked hotly from the couch.

'I, um, you know – '

His eyes narrowed. His hair, all of a sudden, wasn't shining so blondly. In fact, it turned dark, just as the rest of his attributes. 'Suze. We've been going out for MONTHS. Hasn't it been long enough?'

'I – I don't know, I just . . . I'll call a taxi.'

'No, Suze. You can't go home tonight. I need you stay with me.'

I reached absently for my purse. When I snagged it, I searched for my cell phone desperately. When I found it, I began dialing the taxi service when Cole added, 'Or ELSE.'

'W-what?' I stopped before I could punch the call button. I blinked at him in shock as he stood up and looked down on me.

'You want to find out? Or are you going to stay like a good little girl?'

'You're drunk,' I told him. 'You don't mean it.'

'Try me,' Cole whispered harshly.

I spun around going past his bedroom door and in the direction of the door when Cole, champagne bottle in tow, chased me. He grabbed my arm violently before I could get to the door.

'Cole,' I said, my voice shaking in fear. 'W-what are you doing?'

'I don't know,' Cole slurred. 'But I do know what you're doing. And that's getting right back on that couch.'

'How much did you drink?' I asked.

'I don't know – '

'HOW MUCH did you drink, Cole?' I demanded, this time placing my hands on my hips.

He sneered at me and went, 'Obviously not enough,' as he took a giant, uncivilized gulp from the champagne bottle. He staggered forward dangerously, as his expression went from angry to just plain murderous.

Oh, shit.

I moved away form him as quick as I possibly could and warned him, 'Stay away from me, asshole.'

He didn't heed the warning. Instead, he hurled the champagne bottle onto the floor, and it crashed into a million pieces at my feet, some of it splashing my legs. The noise caused me to flinch and I instantly looked down at the glittering glass on the ground.

I stared at it with wide eyes. A morbid thought passed through my mind that that champagne bottle could be me soon, if I hung around. 'Cole, don't. Please, just calm down.'

'DON'T tell me to calm down. HOW can I calm down when my GIRLFRIEND doesn't even _want_ me?'

Cole's voice was really loud. I came to realize quickly that I should be afraid of him. And I was.

But I also felt a little sorry for him. I couldn't believe this side of him. It was like he was a totally different guy from the one I had been going out with. Drunk, dark, and dangerous…

'Cole, I do. But not like . . . like _this_.'

Cole took a step closer, crunching some glass beneath his shoes. He didn't care. He was way too far gone to even notice. 'Am I not enough for you, Suze?' he asked, soft yet slurred. 'Is there something wrong with me? Is that why you don't want to be with me?'

'You're drunk, Cole. I like you a whole lot, but I like you a lot better when you're sober, okay? So let me just – '

Before I could finish my sentence, Cole swiped me across the face and yelled, 'You _bitch_!' I couldn't help but let out a short, loud scream.

My cheek stung bitterly. My own hand shot to the point of contact. My skin pricked under the pressure I applied to it. And my heart was plain pounding like . . . like there was no tomorrow.

Sorry to be dramatic, but from the way Cole was acting . . . I was worried there wasn't going to be.

For the first time that night, I looked directly in Cole's sparkling gray eyes. I saw the things I had never seen before: danger, intoxication, turbulence . . . murder.

Or at least something that could do a lot of damage.

I stumbled away quickly, running for the first door I saw. I slammed the door behind me and closed my eyes, leaning on it heavily while I caught my breath. I opened my eyes and saw that – joy of JOYS – it was his bedroom.

Couldn't have been better for Cole. Couldn't have been WORSE for me.

Cole was knocking on the door loudly. 'Suze. Let me in the room. NOW.'

Oh God. _Oh GOD._

His knocking grew more urgent as the moments passed. When he saw his method was of no avail, he tried the handle, cursing rapidly. Then he resorted to ramming into the door like a human battering ram.

Each bash made the door open nearly half-way, even if I was using all of my strength on it. Each time he rammed, my back crashed painfully into the door, causing me to cry out it pain but I knew that if I didn't hold on, I would die. _I would die._

But this wasn't a matter of strength. The plain and simple fact of it all was that Cole weighed more than me. Thus, he was able to finally bust open the door, leaving me to fly conveniently into his bed, which wasn't that far away.

I forgot to tell you. His room, like the rest of the apartment, was incredibly small.

Cole began to saunter over to the bed. I could see his gray eyes glinting, even in the dim light of the moon. 'I knew you'd see it my way,' he slurred.

I started at him with wide fear-stricken eyes. 'Cole, don't – '

Then, the bastard punched me.

HE PUNCHED ME.

I gasped, hard.

I wasn't doing anything and he just laid a big ol' smack on my face. In the punch, he managed also to pounce on me, knocking me down in the mattress, which was kind of springy. In the whiplash, I ended up getting my head hit but not by Cole's fist this time. It was by his face, which was really, really close to mine. His hot breath was corrosive on my face. It burnt. Like hell incarnate as a person was breathing on my neck.

I tried to squirm away, but this time he was completely on top of me. You remember my favorite dress that I was wearing? Not only was it horribly wrinkled, but he had accidentally-on-purpose hiked it up, exposing a good part of my upper thigh.

NOT GOOD.

'Cole – please –' I panted.

Cole rested his cold hand there. Chills shot from point of contact. I could feel a dark chuckle reverberate through his body. My vision was a little blurry, but I could see his face – the face I once could only dream of – smirking down at me. I saw it coming closer and closer and closer until finally I felt his rough lips claiming me once again.

Oh . . . _oh, God_ . . .

As he kissed me, he pressed me deep into the bed, making half-pleased, half-humored noises. Predator. I was trying . . . trying so hard to fight him away, but something horrible was happening to me. I suddenly became powerless. It was, like, I was incapable of any and all physical movement. First of all, my head was ROARING in pain from when he punched me. I tried sinking back into the mattress, as far away from him as I could get. He followed. Oh, he always followed. My heart was ready to explode. My throat was on fire, dying to scream. I turned my head away from his abusive, violating lips and pleaded with him to stop, but he didn't listen. He continued, allowing his hands to roam dangerously.

_Very_ dangerously.

No. _NOT THAT._

'COLE!' I yelled, suddenly finding my strength again. Well, at least in my voice. When he didn't acknowledge me, I thrashed about wildly until I was able to push him off of me. With a quick roll, I was able to get off the bed, but gravity showed me no mercy as I crashed onto the carpet. Seeing nowhere else to go, I quickly crawled under the bed.

Hey, give me SOME credit. I figured he was so drunk that he'd, you know, get really confused in his quest to find me. So much so that maybe he'd even pass out. I didn't know. I had never been hopelessly smashed in my entire life.

I've had times where I wanted to be smashed. Not smashed as in drunk, but smashed as in squashed into a million billion pieces.

Although, I was not appreciative that some screwy greater being had sent Cole to do the smashing.

. . . It occurred to me, right there and then, that there was a very big danger of Cole Kennedy . . . um . . . you know. Worst case scenario, killing me. Second worse case scenario, stealing something that I couldn't get back. My innocence.

Aka, rape.

Yeah. I just thought the word. My most current fear.

That Cole would do just that.

. . . _Shit_, I was scared . . .

I felt him shift around on the bed above me. 'Whoa,' he said, at awe in my sudden disappearance. 'Where'd you go, Suze? You left me. That makes me sad.'

I heard him slide off the bed, his feet gently plopping on the floor. He was on the other side of the bed, so I couldn't see him yet, which totally freaked me out. I knew he was there in the room, so close and yet he seemed so far away. I was under the protection of Cole's bed, which I should have known would never be shelter enough for me.

'You're like one of those things,' he whimpered sadly. 'You know? Those things that disappear . . . ghosts. Yeah, a ghost. Except not dead.' I heard his slow menacing footsteps deafened by the plush carpeting in his room.

' . . . Yet.'

I sucked in sharply.

The lump in my throat grew bigger as I stifled a gasp of fear. My heart was pounding so loud. There was no WAY Cole could miss that, even if he were in a drunken stupor.

'Come OUT,' Cole yelled, finally getting annoyed with my little game of Hide-n-Go-Seek. 'Where the hell did you go?'

I heard a loud crash, from where Cole threw a chair to the ground. It caused me to let out a gasp. One that was WAY too loud. It just tumbled from my mouth and into the silence that was my only protection.

Shit. Shit, shit, ever-loving _shit_!

I was a dead woman. At twenty-three. Not good. NOT GOOD.

I covered my mouth with my hand instantly, but it did no good because I knew Cole heard. If the way he snarled, 'Oooh. I hear you now . . . ' was any indication.

I saw Cole's shoes as they slowly stepped towards the bed. I stared at them in despair, knowing that my fate was pretty much sealed. I was dead. Deader, even, than I felt after 5 long years.

His shadow was cast on the small bit of moonlight that was shining under the bed. The covers went up, exposing me in my hiding spot.

And I saw a cruel smile stretch across his lips.

'Aaah. Gotcha now, haven't I?'

I didn't answer him. I tried closing my eyes, wishing, just WISHING that I had known how to do that dematerialization thing that I knew shifters could do. If only I had listened to Paul. It really could have come in handy when I wanted to get away from my suddenly abusive boyfriend.

The thing is, I didn't know. I never knew anything. I didn't know Cole was such an abusive alcoholic. I didn't know my life was going to be torn from me, and that there was nothing I could do about it. I wasn't psychic.

I also wasn't very smart. All of this could have been avoided. All of it. Even the painful stuff BEFORE Cole. I can see dead people. I just can't see the future…

Angrily, Cole snatched me out from under the bed by my wrist, pulling me up so that I was standing in his ever-engulfing shadow. His hand was fire on my skin. It burnt. It was too hot. It _seared_. 'I said, I've gotcha now this time. Haven't I, Suze? HAVEN'T I?'

I felt my world shattering as he began shaking me viciously, insistent that I give him an answer. But no, I couldn't give him one. I was sobbing too hard, and the lump that had developed in my throat was far too big.

Useless.

And that's when Cole raised his fist again, willing for it to connect with my face one more time . . .

I felt the pain before he even touched me.

'No –!'

The lump in my throat burst, causing a shrill scream and –not to mention – a burst of pain to explode from my vocal cords.

'Susannah,' I heard a voice call me desperately. 'Susannah. _Susannah_.'

'COLE, _don't_!' I yelled.

I was still being shook, but this time not by the hands of an abuser. No, this shaking was gentler, and the hands on my bare arms were mildly warm instead of fiery hot.

Hands of a rancher.

'Susannah,' the voice said again. 'Susannah, please wake up.'

I twisted sharply, and suddenly realized that it was fabric, not hands, that were imprisoning me. I was trapped in my sheets. Thrashing around, the awareness that I was not awake made me jolt suddenly from the nightmare I was having.

. . . My forehead was damp. And hot. And icky. And it probably smelled weird, too.

I relaxed my fist, which was clenched at my side, almost ready to strike. My nails were digging into my palms. Only then did I notice. The pain, which had been concealed, suddenly started evolving in my hands. My breathing was ridiculously heavy. I opened my eyes quickly, my head roaring, and saw a glow cast upon my face. I focused in on Jesse's familiar face, as it loomed closely to mine.

It WASN'T Cole. Suze? It's NOT him. Calm DOWN, DAMN IT.

But then, as he stopped shaking me, his face grew blurry again. It didn't take me longer to figure out that it was because I began crying –no, SOBBING.

Jesse stared down at me sympathetically and began making shushing noises as he stroked my forehead in an attempt to calm me down.

It was hard to calm down, though. Especially after that recycled _deja-vu_ that became a nightmare.

. . . Another haunter who wasn't dead.

Cole was haunting me.

In my sleep.

Just like the first one.

Jesse, who was sitting on the side of my bed, next to my stomach, continued gently stroking my cheek until I calmed down long enough. His thumb brushed accidentally over my lips, at one point. Which was something that made me jolt, again, as if I was still having the nightmare. With a nonsensical blabber, I went to sit up sharply, but Jesse held me down, still trying to make me calm. He ran his fingers through my hair soothingly, still going, 'Shhhh . . . '

I'm afraid my crying didn't do anything for my headache. Or my pride for that matter.

But you know what? I didn't care. I wanted to be this Wonder Woman that would laugh in the face of fear. Muahaha. You know what I was? A little girl, scared stupid, haunted by a monster.

An alive one.

. . . But I guess I was a _little_ less scared with Jesse around, caressing my face and saying stuff I could never understand in Spanish. At Boston, I decided it would be pointless to take Spanish because I no longer had a roommate who spoke it. And now I was sort of kicking myself for it.

Whatever he said, it was a little comforting. It sounds weird, but it was like none of the past five years had ever happened, and I was the old Suze and Jesse still called me _querida_ and we were still hopelessly in love.

But all that tore apart when Jesse's hand stopped touching my face, and he demanded, 'Who is Cole?'

I swallowed dryly, suddenly, and stared at the high ceiling, trying to decide whether or not to tell him. About Cole Kennedy's stalkerish tendencies. And, oh yeah, the fact that he liked to beat the crap out of me.

. . . Minor detail.

I mean, I didn't want Paul to know in the first place because I knew he'd hold it over my head for the rest of my sorry existence on this earth to, you know, make me feel inferior. But as far as I knew, Jesse's intent was never to make me feel inferior. He may have broken my heart and crushed my spirit, but he never tried to kill my ego.

But then again, I didn't want him to think I forgave him for what he did. Because I so didn't. I figured that if I told him who Cole was, Jesse would somehow get the idea that I was ready to become 'bestest friends' again or whatever.

Nope. Wasn't going to happen.

I seized control of my breathing furiously, slowing down to calm, slow breaths.

So I said, more to the ceiling than to Jesse, 'Cole? Oh, he's just this . . . character in this really scary . . . book. Yeah, a book. A horror story. You know how realistic fictional characters can be.'

(A/N:

_Lolly_: I'll say.

_Hayley:_ Teehee!!!)

Jesse seemed unconvinced. 'If you say so, Susannah,' he sighed. 'I just . . . I didn't know you liked to read.'

'Like to? I LOVE to read.'

. . . Shut up.

Jesse muttered something sarcastically in Spanish. He obviously didn't believe me. But, as you know, he had every reason not to.

'So in your dream this character – Cole, you called him – what did he do?'

I froze for a moment. I didn't know how far I could take this whole fabrication, especially since Jesse's gaze was like a looking glass into my transparent soul. I decided to be creative. 'He chased me down into a dead end in a dark alley and he had this really big, um . . . whip in is hand. Yeah. And he was dressed in all leather, from head to toe. The whip had, like, spikes on it which were at LEAST four inches long. And he had an afro. And a really gross nose. And a big scar over one of his eyes. And a hook instead of a hand. And a peg leg. And laser beams. And his voice-box had been cut out, so he could only grunt.'

I proceeded to demonstrate this, in a very scary rendition of "_Suuuuuuuuze_……" I even clawed my fingers and bared my teeth a little, and did an unnecessary growl, for good measure.

'And he did . . . um . . . drugs. And he smelt bad. No cologne, you know? And he looked like this total bad-ass-vampire-wannabe. And I didn't even have a number two pencil with me, so I was helpless. Scary stuff.'

Jesse stared at me for a moment with an unsure disbelief.

'AND he was hairy,' I added earnestly. 'Hair, everywhere. Well . . . I mean, not everywhere. Well, I don't know if he had hair . . . _there_. You know what? He didn't. It all fell off. He has AIDS, too.'

Then he concluded, after giving it some thought, 'You have very odd dreams, Susannah.'

'You have no idea,' I assured him under my breath. And he really didn't. I mean, this wasn't the first flashback dream I had had of Cole. It may have been the worst of them all, but it certainly wasn't the only one.

Jesse let out an exasperated sigh. I turned my head to face him, and his expression was kind of concerned-and-annoyed. I let out a sigh myself. 'Jesse,' I said, sitting up to emphasize my words, 'I'm fine, okay?'

He didn't look very convinced, but he mumbled, 'All right, Susannah.'

Jesse didn't seem to let it go, though. Instead, he continued sit by my side, studying my face as if it held some sort of answer he'd been looking for. I hoped that answer wasn't the truth because, quite frankly, Jesse was the LAST person I wanted to know about Cole. I take that back. The last person I wanted to know was Paul, but he stole my cell phone and figured it out himself.

Hah. Searching without a warrant. Isn't that, like, illegal or something?

I don't know. Nothing seemed to be illegal when PAUL did it. I mean, just because he went to law school and is now an intern at a law firm doesn't mean he's above the law.

I guess that's not the only thing he's above. He's definitely above me.

And so was Jesse. And everyone else in the SIA. Even Father D, who was in the hospital, in his little white blankies.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, I said, 'Hey. Maybe I can get in an early breakfast. It's been a long night, and I'm kind of hungry.'

'Of course,' Jesse replied. 'I'll come with you.'

_I'll come with you_. He said it so naturally. If only it had been that easy five years ago.

_I'll come with you. To Massachusetts. To live with you. To love you, Susannah._

If only.

– 8 -

Maybe Cole _does_ have AIDS . . .

. . . Oh, sorry.

Yeah.

Jesse left me alone to change and to knock out my morning hygiene routine. You know the usual shower, teeth-brushing, hair combing, blow-drying, and styling. Maintaining a long mane of hair such as mine took a lot of hard work, you know.

I mean, I usually tried not to bother with it much. However, I noticed that the more I was with the SIA, the more care I took in trying to look good. Even at six o'clock in the morning.

Which was weird because with the loose business hours and all, no one would be awake for at least another two hours. I could roam the school naked, and no one would know.

Not that I WOULD. Gawd.

Maybe it had to do with Jesse. My styling, not my desire to roam the school naked. I mean, it was kind of embarrassing to me that Jesse had seen me before I had even touched my hair, much less put a brush to it. And I probably had morning breath or something. Eww.

I guess it was just like old times. No WONDER Jesse didn't want to go to college with me.

. . . Then again, wouldn't everyone in Gilroy have permanent garlic breath? So in comparison, my breath would be pretty spiffy, right?

Out of the kindness of his heart, even if it was technically non-existent in this dimension, Jesse had agreed to walk me to the kitchen to grab some food. It was too early to eat breakfast and I really wasn't all that hungry, but I thought this little venture might take Jesse's mind off of analyzing what my subconscious decided to throw at me the night before.

I saw a little dim light coming from the school lobby. You know, that place where visitors are shipped off to in order to get aquainted with the school? Yeah, that. I hadn't been in there all that often because I thought it to be a little too fancy for my liking. I mean, the couches were so lavish and ornate and the walls were covered with these embellished paintings. It was, like, sensory overload just going in there.

They made the lobby to impress visitors. I bet it scared off more people than it sucked in. Of course I may have been afraid of it also because I had no idea when or where the Misfortunates might try to strike again. That kind of put an eerie slant on the entire place, not just the lobby.

'I wonder who's there,' I said. I know I said I didn't really like it in there, but I was a little curious. I already mentioned that it was too early for signs of life. But then again, it might have been the stirring of the undead that hung around. Who knew?

'We should find out,' Jesse said bringing his hand gently to the small of my back. With it, he steered me to the direction of the lobby.

He was touching me. Touching . . . not good. _No touchy_!

I nervously stepped a fraction ahead of his fingertips, which brought me away from the unwelcomed warmth I felt where his fingers met my back.

We continued on until we reached the lobby. Inside, in one of the huge over-decorated chairs, sat Johnny Depp.

No.

I'm kidding.

. . . Hehehe.

Nah, just _lowly_ Paul Slater. Ugh. An old antique lamp cast a dim glow on him that almost made him look like some sort of otherworldly creature. I mean, he could have been a god with the majestic way he sat, bathrobe draped loosely over his bare-chest and pajama pants. A total change from his normal 9-5 chic.

This, for some reason, caused me to blush. A lot. All I could say was, 'Whoa . . . um . . . '

Yeah, I'm pathetic.

I really wanted to ask, _what are you doing here this early? Have you even SHOWERED yet? And, oh my God, why are you only a bathrobe? And what IS that red mark on your neck . . . ?_

Maybe I really didn't want to know.

'Morning,' Paul greeted, looking up briefly from a bunch of articles spread over his lap, 'I see you two are up early.' He paused. 'But it's hard to get up when you never went down,' he said, in reference to Jesse's incapability to sleep. He tossed me an evil look. 'Then again, maybe you did go down,' his eyes danced over at me, and he smirked in dark, crude humor, before to returning to whatever the hell he was reading.

Well. THAT sure put me in an instant bad mood.

You know, with the . . . um . . . sexual innuendo, and all.

Oh God. I was blushing harder than I'd ever remembered.

Paul FURTHER continued, though. 'And speaking of getting up, de Silva,' his eyes twinkled as they landed on Jesse in contempt, 'Does it still do that? I'm curious – '

'Okay, EWWW,' I scowled at Paul. My loud voice echoed down the early hallways of Fortunaschwein. 'Paul, just because _your_ dick doesn't function correctly, don't ask Jesse about his.'

. . . Eww, eww . . .

Ewwwwwwww.

Paul looked pleasantly surprised with that response, while Jesse looked kind of scandalized.

You'd think he'd be happy that I'd just stopped mean ol' Paulie from bullying him, but noooo. He had the NERVE to looked disgusted.

Hmph. Maybe his dick DOESN'T work.

Stupid ghost.

Paul went back to reading his precious 1969 Year Book, looking for more stuff about ghosts by the names of Charles, Robin, Bartholomew and Nathaniel. Whether he was pulling up anything more than what Cee had found the day before, I didn't know. But whatever.

With a wrinkled nose at Paul, who was immersed in his book, yet still smiling very lightly, I tossed my hair, and started moving along the hallway again. However, Jesse quickly caught up with me, and, grabbing me unceremoniously by my arm, pulled me back to hiss in my ear. 'Susannah, wait – '

I spun back around to glare at him. How dare he touch me? Hmm? Who did he think he was? Paul, or something?

Only PAUL would be so bold as to lay hands on people who did not want to be laid . . . um, I mean, have hands laid on them.

Or, um, something.

'What?' I demanded. Paul still continued to read. I could only see two thirds of him now – I'd walked a couple of meters, and the wall of the lobby partly blocked him from view. 'I'm going to get breakfast. I'm really hungry – '

'Susannah, I think that . . . ' Jesse began, with a wince. It looked like he was trying to bite down something painful. Which I quickly discovered, was his pride. 'I think that you should tell Slater about what happened last night, with the Misfortunates and their tricks.'

I stared at him accusingly. 'Hell no,' I snapped. And that was that.

. . . Well, not according to Jesse.

'No,' he gripped my arm a little bit firmer when I tried to yank it from his hand, 'Susannah, listen. He is your colleague. He has a right to be . . . informed, of what happens to each and every one of this Agency, in any spectral aspect – '

'So if you give me a funny look, ghost boy, then Paul ought to know?' I quipped obstinately.

Jesse gave me a solemn look. 'Susannah. He should know. I regret to remind you, but his shifting ability far exceeds your own.'

Well, that did it.

NOW I was furious.

'Shut up,' I said, in a dazzling display of my maturity. 'I'm totally exceeding Paul. I can exceed his ass any day. I'm exceptional – '

'Tell him, Susannah.'

'_You_ tell him, if you're so obsessed with him,' I flared up.

'Are you two still here?' Paul called boredly. 'What's this? Lover's quarrel?'

I threw a nasty look – and a nasty finger – at the two thirds of Paul that I could still see. He chuckled slightly.

Without saying anything else, Jesse merely pushed me back into the lobby, much to my protest. There, he pointed wordlessly at one of the couches, where I gave this enormous sigh, and sat, very grumpily.

'Slater,' Jesse said stubbornly, 'Susannah wishes to tell you something.'

I continued to glare furiously at Jesse, as Paul idly looked up.

'Susannah, please, return a favor,' Jesse asked.

'Favor?' I frowned nonchalantly, 'What favor?'

'Last night?' Jesse reminded me, his tone getting a little stronger.

Ugh. Big mistake, Jess.

Predictably, Paul's face cracked into a wide, impish smile. 'Oh, so you were exchanging favors last night?' he grinned darkly. 'She any good, de Silva?'

'Shut up, asshole,' I yelled at him, with a very unattractive scowl. And blushing furiously. Jesse, not comprehending Paul's meaning, still urged me to tell him.

'He doesn't even want to _know_!' I protested to Jesse.

'Know what?' Paul wanted to know.

I rolled my eyes. 'Fine,' I sighed. 'The Misforties paid me another gracious visit last night. There.'

Paul's eyes became a little more opaque. '. . . What happened?' he asked, suddenly no trace of ridicule or rascality in his voice. Something startlingly similar to concern laced his tone, in fact, and yet, I still just glared back at him.

What? He WAS a bastard, for that crack before.

Argh. Hiss, boo!

Lets all throw tomatoes and eggs.

'Nothing,' I said with a hollow laugh. 'And I mean that. They were tricking me.'

'Care to elaborate?' Paul drawled.

I folded my arms crossly. 'Well . . . they made me see things, is all. Paul,' I said unexpectedly, 'if these ghosts have such a control over perception, sensation and sound, I think that they're more powerful than we realized. I think that this school is under a very severe possession.'

'What did they make you see?' Paul asked impatiently.

'. . . Blood,' I said. 'They were laughing at me. Again.'

'Did they actually come to you?'

'No.'

'Did they – '

'They definitely DID die in a fire,' I said suddenly. Paul stared. 'How do you know that?'

' . . . I just know,' I muttered. 'They left . . . clues. Burnt things. And heat.'

I grimaced a little, and noticed with deep self-disgust that there was an eruption of goosebumps on my arm. I'd given myself goosebumps. What RIGHT did I have, getting goosebumps, huh?

HUH, PUNK?!

'So it's true, then,' Paul said tonelessly as he pointed to one of the articles in his lap, 'about their fiery suicides, I mean.'

'I guess.'

I couldn't help sounding a little detached. I mean, I didn't want to let on that I was feeling an ounce of fear. I HATED the thought of being scared or worse, telling Paul about it. But I was scared, if the Goosebumps were any indicator. I stared at the carpet, trying not to think about it as Paul's steely blue eyes bored into me.

It was so intricate. The carpet, I mean, not Paul's eyes. The design weaved in were so complex that you could barely tell what it was supposed to be. Kinda like Fortunashwein, now that I think of it.

'Let me guess. This is where _Señor de Studly_ enters the picture, right?' gibed Paul, whose cutting glare had went from me to Jesse.

Jesse, who actually knew what Paul was getting at this time, explained in his defense, 'I watched her.'

'Oh,' Paul said as he rolled his eyes expressively, 'so I guess it's just like old times again.'

'What?' I really didn't know what Paul was talking about. I mean, I'm sure he was referencing the whole roommate situation, but I'm sure Jesse never WATCHED me sleeping. I knew because I would sometimes wake up to Jesse chuckling at something he read in his cherished books that Father Dom let him borrow occasionally. And when he moved into the rectory, he stopped dropping by at night. 'What are you talking about?'

Paul threw his head back and laughed. There was something in his laugh . . . it wasn't humor. It was something more acrimonious. 'Don't even pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Geez, Suze. I knew it was only a matter of time before your former flame rekindled, sparked by the fire of your passion – '

'Shut up! GOD, Paul!' I yelled viciously, my eyes shooting daggers at him. Why wouldn't he just leave me alone? I told him what he wanted to know . . . why couldn't he just leave it at that?

Scratch that. I knew why. Because he was Paul Slater . . . pain in the ass and ruiner of ALL things.

I'm sure my yelling would have been more effective if my voice hadn't creaked when I shouted his name. And there was also the whole thing about my face deciding to try to imitate a tomato. Seriously . . . it was THAT red.

'No _wonder_ you were up so early.' Paul stopped laughing, but he had that stupid smirk on his face. You know, the one that makes me want haul off and punch all of his capped teeth out? Yeah. And I came pretty close to doing just that, except that Jesse rushed over and pushed my shoulder down, causing me to sink back down in the chair.

But that never stopped my mouth. 'And you? What were YOU doing, anyway? Screwing your brother, or something?'

Paul's sky-blues lit up as his smirk turned into a full-blown smile. 'Not my brother . . . ' he said, trailing off in hidden meaning as he gazed somewhere in the distance.

I didn't know what he meant, but I don't think I really wanted to. It probably had something to do with that red mark on his neck, which was ANOTHER subject I didn't want to get into.

God, I just wanted to get out of there and crawl back into bed and hide under the warm blankets. Without Jesse, thank-you-very-much.

'Slater. Leave her alone,' Jesse warned him, keeping his grip on my shoulder tight. 'I was just watching her in case they came back.'

'Yeah, leave me alone,' I added lamely, pouting.

Paul held his hands up in surrender, with a grin. 'Sorry. My mistake. I'll just leave you two with some privacy.'

He gathered the articles and old annuals in his lap and got up from his chair, holding it all in one hand at his side. I was already blushing hopelessly, and it didn't help that you could see Paul's perfect pectorals as he stood up. He was about to leave, when he stopped and looked over his shoulder, saying, 'Oh, and thanks for the information, Suze. Some of it was a little too much, if you know what I mean.'

And with one casual nod, he left the premises, his long robe flapping behind him.

'Thanks a _lot_, Jesse,' I said as I let out the breath I was holding in as Paul made his grand exit.

'What did I do?' Jesse asked cluelessly.

He didn't merit a reply. He'd practically let Paul just walk away, satisfied that he got away with making fun of us both. And Jesse had just LET him. Sure, he told him to leave me alone, but he didn't even TRY to take the defensive.

Note to self: when playing flag football, DON'T pick Jesse to be on the team.

I breezed out of the room in the opposite direction just as Paul had earlier, only the drama was hindered because I didn't have a cool robe to float behind me or anything. And besides that, I tripped over one of the chairs on my way out.

Really. Could I _be_ anymore embarrassing to myself?

– 8 -

If the day hadn't started off bad enough, I was later forced to pay a visit to a Mr. Richard Head a.k.a. 'Dick Head'. I tried to get out of it, I really did. I put up quite a fight, too. But CeeCee and Paul, who were going to accompany me on this little 'escapade', insisted that I had to be there to tell Mr. Head all about our little ghost friends since I was unfortunate enough to meet them.

'Why didn't you take Dani?' I whined from the backseat of Paul's snazzy Jaguar. 'I mean, she was there too.'

'Dani couldn't come because she's busy,' Paul, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

'Busy doing what? Giving herself a much-needed manicure?' I asked.

'Cool it, Suze,' CeeCee piped in from the passenger seat, trying to keep the peace. The mini-brawl between Paul and I was kind of impeding on Paul's driving ability. 'Dani said she was arranging a little surprise for all of us later on tonight.'

'Oh, joy,' I mumbled. 'Horrific Queer Eye makeovers, all round.' I slunk down in defeat and looked outside the window.

I couldn't imagine what kind of surprise Dani had up her sleeve. I mean, she obviously can't cook or sew or anything. She usually had her slew of fashion-biz minions to do frivolous things like clothes washing or cleaning for her.

Another thing she had in common with Paul. Minions. Although Paul's minions, mostly of the ghostly variety, were just as happy to do his bidding as they were trying to kill him.

Then again, if I had to work for Dani, I'd want to kill her too. Or myself.

If I were cruel and heartless enough to have minions, I would use mine as bodyguards. Dani shows disgust in my outfit – BAM! Jesse gets too feely or whatever – SMACK! Paul . . . well, does Paul-stuff – KAPOW!

But I don't know how effective they would be against Cole.

Eeek.

Anyway . . .

Before we left, we dug around for the little 'contract' we make Mr. Head sign. There, we jotted down his address, while Adam used CeeCee's laptop to find directions to his place on MapQuest. Mr. Head didn't exactly live in Gilroy. He lived just a little outside of it, though, really close.

Well, um, we . . . uh, arrived.

Mr. Head's home must have been worth a FORTUNE. It was freaking HUGE. We had to ask a security guard to let us in the huge iron gate that guarded his estate. Presentation of ID and everything. There were all these trees everywhere, casting an eerie shadow on his front yard. But it was still pretty, in a spooky-old-house kind of way.

It was very old. I knew that much. But, you know . . . grand. Ritzy. And all that jazz.

. . . Yeah.

Here we were. Informing our employer of our progress.

Just one thing . . .

'So, um what is our progress?' I asked in a whisper.

Paul rolled his eyes. For like, the eighty-million-and-seventh time. 'We've found the ghosts and we have their story. Well, at least bits and pieces of it. We'll just tell him what we have and hope for the best.'

'Well, that's a _great_ plan when –'

Only, Mr Head chose to answer his ritzy door then.

He looked, for an old guy, very intimidating. I mean, you know. Dark, harsh, rock-solid. Like we'd just interrupted him banking or something.

I stood up a little straighter, trying to look professional. But failed miserably. Biting my lip, I cast a sideways look at CeeCee.

'What do you want?' he demanded. 'I told you, I don't take solicitors.'

Um . . . okay.

AND I DON'T TAKE SHIT!!!

_MUAHAHAHA!!!_

. . . Oh, if only I could say that and keep my job.

Sigh.

Mr Headykins tried shutting the door on us, but Prince Paul propped his foot in the doorway politely – I don't know if you CAN do that politely, but whatever – and leaned in a little. 'Mr Head, we're the SIA, remember? The group assisting you in your "ghost problem" at your school? We came to inform you of our progress.'

'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Progress.'

CeeCee propelled me a shut-the-hell-up look. Only matched by Paul's.

She – Cee, not Paul, as girly as he is – continued addressing the D.H. 'Yes, Mr Head. We have made progress in your school. We have vaguely identified who the ghosts are. However, we need to ask you some things in order to carry on with our research, because there aren't full records of the –'

Mr Head grunted suddenly. 'I'm rather busy at the moment, so sorry – ' and he tried slamming the door again, but Paul's foot was still there. Paul pushed the door open a little wider, and gave Employer of the Month (cough) a stern look.

Stern look'll put him in his place, Paulie. Oooh. Let's all run and hide and paint lamb's blood on our door frames. Paul's giving stern looks now.

Shudder.

'Paul,' CeeCee said reprovingly, 'Come on –'

He ignored her. 'Sir, it won't take but a few moments of your time. This is part of our job, you know, and I'm sure you want to see that you are getting your money's worth. Right, Mr. Head,' he stated, rather than asked.

Mr Head stared at him for a moment, looking perplexed that Paul dared defy him or something. Poo to him.

He shuffled, and gave a grunt. 'I guess I can spare a few minutes.'

I don't know what it is about Paul that just makes you want to give in. Maybe it was his manipulative tactics, and the way he made things unfold surreptitiously behind your back. Or maybe it was because his persistence was just plain tiring.

'Oh, this won't take long,' Paul said, in the CREEPIEST VOICE EVER.

Ugh.

God, Paul was so bossy. I reckon that the only person who can make him do something he doesn't want to do is Dani.

They deserve each other.

. . . Losers.

CeeCee was giving Paul a criticizing look, but just shrugged at me. I rolled my eyes, and we shuffled into the Ritzy House after Prince Pathetic.

I mean, Paul.

For some reason, Mr. Head's house reminded me of Donald Trump's mansion. You know, how it's, like, practically made of gold and stuff? Only, I doubted that Mr. Head owned any gold toilet seats, but somehow I wouldn't be surprised.

His whole house was decorated much in the same fashion as the lobby in the school was, excessively extravagant. I couldn't imagine why anyone would just blow a whole bunch of money on an abandoned all-boys school when they already had a huge house with just about anything you could possibly want in it. But the guy didn't even SEEM happy about this place. Something was obviously missing . . .

I guess money doesn't always buy happiness.

After walking for what seemed like ages, we finally arrived to Mr. Head's home office. I guess when you're filthy stinking rich, you have the luxury of working from your home with flexible business hours. Which kind of made me wonder what exactly Mr. Head did for a living. I assumed it was something business-y. Maybe Real Estate, since he'd bought the school and was planning on fixing it up. Who knew?

But anyway, we walked into his office, where three chairs were set up opposite of this huge mahogany desk, which had an equally huge rolling chair behind it. Mr. Head took a seat and motioned for the rest of us to join him. Paul took his seat rather confidently, and when I hesitated he threw me a look that urged me to take a seat as well. CeeCee seemed comfortable, too, probably because she interviewed people on a daily basis. She and Paul were professionals, and I was just little Miss Susie-Starbucks.

Mr. Head was no small man, as I may have mentioned before. Sure he was thin. Just, very tall. I felt like a midget, or something, among all of these tall people. Ha. Me and Bart were outsiders. But whatever, Mr Head's chair was so large that it almost seemed to engulf him. He rolled the chair with great effort and began filing away some papers, locking them in his desk drawer and putting the small key into the breast pocket of his sports coat.

When he was done with that, he leaned back in his chair and scowled at us, as if he felt this was a huge waste of time. Well, I could relate. I didn't even know why I came in the first place. I had nothing to contribute, except for maybe a little ghost story. Would he really be impressed about a bit of blood? I mean, if he wanted that he could have watched _Saving Private Ryan_ or maybe some horror movie or something. He cleared his throat, saying, 'You say you've made progress, then?'

Paul spoke up, eager as always, 'Yes sir. Our researcher, CeeCee-' he made a graceful nod in Cee's direction, '-has their story. Would you please acquaint Mr. Head with our ghosts?'

'Certainly,' CeeCee piped in, glad to finally share the research she'd worked so hard on. 'We have, as I've said before, been able to identify the ghosts by first name. Their names are Nathaniel, Charles, Robin, and Bartholomew.'

'Hmm,' was all Mr. Head said.

'And they are referred to in old newspaper articles as "The Misfortunates of Fortunashwein". Does this have any meaning to you at-?'

Mr. Head cut CeeCee off and wheeled his chair around so he was facing away. He shuffled around some papers and replied in a very discourteous, disdainful tone, 'No. It's doesn't. Should it?'

CeeCee replied timidly, 'No sir. We were just wondering.'

Poor CeeCee. She was just doing her job, but instead of praise, she got verbal abuse. No one deserved that, especially Cee, who was now sinking low in her chair as her scalp turned a bright purple color.

I tried to help her out by asking, 'How did you get the school?'

CeeCee just glared at me, as if to say "Hey! I'M talking here!".

Mr. Head's answer was curt. 'I bought it.'

'We know that, sir,' Paul intervened before I, too, got chewed out, 'but was there any specific reason you bought it?'

Mr. Head turned his chair around to face us again and glared. 'What is this,' he asked coarsely, 'twenty-one questions or something? I've got more important things to do than undergo interrogation by people I hired to get rid of a pesky ghost problem.'

CeeCee said, 'We're sorry, sir, but we need to-'

'Why don't you all run along and get rid of these ghosts you speak of? That's what I pay you for, after all. I don't pay you to waste my time.'

That's it. Dick Head is a real DICK. I couldn't just stand by and watch our group get chewed out. I had let too many bosses do that to me before, and I couldn't let it happen again.

'Dude – um, sir,' I said awkwardly, 'we already have . . . _encountered_ the ghosts. Or, at least I have. And these guys aren't anything like Casper, if you know what I mean. They're bitter about something, that's obvious, but we don't know what it is. Paul, CeeCee, and I were wondering if you may have some sort of history of the school, or if you knew something else that might help us get a step closer to finding out their mystery –'

'You saw them,' Mr. Head said. He didn't ask, he just stated it, as if he himself couldn't believe it.

'Well, yeah, they appeared to me one day in the attic. Mr. Head, from the encounters I've had with them, these ghosts seem seriously dangerous. I mean, they are, like, upset about something, and that's why they are sticking around.'

Mr. Head shook his head and let out a dark laugh. 'I wouldn't let a couple of kids get to you.'

That statement caused an instant red flag in my head. It was funny he said that, especially since we hadn't mentioned the ghosts' ages. We gave him names, and that was it. How could he have guessed? I mean . . . okay, sure, it was a school. But still. It could have been anyone. Teachers. Staff. Janitors. Burglars. _Anyone_. Because, he claimed to know nothing about the Fortunaschweinian Misfortunates, right?

Paul caught on, too, and he looked at me the same curiosity I felt. But he didn't say anything. The Dick's statement triggered something in CeeCee that I had never seen before. 'You knew they were kids?' she asked, looking very interested in Mr. Head's answer.

'They are? Oh. It was a lucky guess,' he grunted in reply. This answer, however, did not satisfy CeeCee's journalist mind.

'Dead on lucky,' she commented. 'No pun intended.'

Mr. Head searched for something to say, when all of a sudden the phone on his desk let out a loud ring. He picked it up quickly, almost in relief as he said into the receiver, 'Richard Head, Gilroy NorthBank consultant, speaking.'

Ugh. Banker.

. . . No wonder he was so annoying.

The voice on the other side, though I couldn't understand what was being said, was quick and urgent. Paul, CeeCee, and I exchanged uncomfortable glances as we tried not to be impolite by listening.

Mr. Head placed his hand on the receiver and went, not at all pleasantly, 'I've got a very important conference call on the line. I'm afraid we'll have to continue this chat some other time. You can show yourselves out.'

He waved his hand as if to shoo us off. CeeCee and I were almost jumping to get away, but I had to practically yank Paul by the collar of his nice striped Oxford dress shirt in order get him out of the office.

We walked past the extravagant kitchen. Paul and Cee walked on ahead. I, however, stopped.

Someone was in the kitchen.

. . . Don't get excited. It wasn't anyone dead.

Although, judging by what I knew, it was someone who could have been.

'Mrs Head?' I asked softly to an old woman who was cooking.

The lady turned around. She was wearing an old-styled dress, and an apron. Kind of odd. Very 1960's housewife-ish to me. Like, she was wearing a Mrs. Cleaver costume or something. And the dress wasn't flattering, either. Her wispy white hair was curled around her head. She had a chubby face, which could have looked cheerful, but she didn't look as if she was that all that happy at the moment.

'. . . Who are you?' she asked curiously. 'Friends of Richard?'

She must have realized, though, that her hubby probably wasn't exactly a social butterfly. 'I mean, clients?'

'Actually, he's _our_ client,' I said. By then Paul and CeeCee had come on either side on me. Paul was nudging me in the side, trying to get me to make this quick. However, what he was neglecting was the fact that Mrs Head had also had an encounter with our ghosties. Perhaps she could offer some assistance.

'Oh?' she asked, putting down her wooden spoon into the pasta that she was boiling. She regarded me kindly.

'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Um . . . we're here about Fortunaschwein's . . . erm . . . haunting.'

Her face darkened. 'Oh. That,' she murmured. She turned back to her pasta, turning down the heat on the very expensive looking stove.

I persisted. 'So . . . I heard that you've had a brush with the ghosts there?'

She sniffed. 'I didn't believe in ghosts,' she said quietly. 'However, recently I've been forced to believe otherwise. So, you believe in them?'

I smiled wryly. 'Me and Paul here see them on a daily basis.'

Her fingers flew across her mouth. 'That must be horrible, dear,' she sympathized.

'Well, for Suze, there are perks,' Paul muttered from behind me. I turned to give him a steady glare, before looking back to Dicky's wife.

Mrs Head regarded Paul and me with a gentle smile. 'Are you two married?' she asked serenely.

I blushed, and shook my head severely. Paul gave a cold laugh. 'No,' he replied. 'We're not.'

'We're SO not,' I assured her further.

She smiled. 'Sorry, I just . . .assumed. You were standing so close.'

Not so much anymore. Paul and I looked, and when we realized she was kind of right, we distanced ourselves quickly. VERY quickly.

'Don't get married,' she warned me and CeeCee, 'It's a trap, I'm sure of it.'

'Erm, we won't,' I said awkwardly.

More stirring of the spaghetti pasta . . .

'So, Mrs Head – '

'Abigail,' she said.

'Sorry?'

'My name,' she smiled. 'It is Abigail. None of this Mrs Head nonsense.' She looked rather pleased to be denying her last name, actually. As if she was regretting she ever chose it.

Not that she CHOSE it.

But she was stupid enough to marry the bastard who gave it to her.

Suck.

Hahaha . . . Abigail . . . "Big."

Big Head –

. . . Sorry.

'That's a cool name,' I told her. 'Anyway, Abigail. Can you tell us what happened when you went into the school?'

She frowned. 'Well . . . lately, Richard has been discussing plans for a Bed and Breakfast. Wonderful idea,' she said with a soft smile. 'And he told me to go inside and look at the condition of the school. I asked him why he did not go in, and he said he'd . . . rather not say.'

'Go on,' I urged her.

She shrugged, and turned to stir her pasta for a second. When it started steaming, she picked up the pot with cooking gloves, and carried it to a sieve at the sink to drain it. Hot vapor poured into the air, right at her face as she tipped the pot.

'Well, I went inside. The school hadn't been opened in such a long time,' she chattered. I got the impression, suddenly, that she didn't talk to all that many people . . . 'and the doors creaked. It was like a haunted house,' she laughed.

'It is,' CeeCee said dryly.

'Oh,' Abigail looked thoughtful. 'Oh yes.'

Her bad.

'I perused around, admiring the beauty of the school. I hadn't been in there since . . . well, a long time ago. Nor had Richard. It was all very dear. Classic charm, you know? A very attractive building, if not slightly foreboding,' she added. 'And then I got onto the fourth floor. That's when things went strange.'

She went back to the stove, where she was cooking a creamy white sauce. 'Stay for lunch?' she asked with a pleasant smile.

'Ah, no thanks,' CeeCee said. 'Keep going though, Mrs – erm, Abigail?'

She looked crestfallen.

'Oh. Where was I? Yes, the fourth floor. I was walking down the hallway, when I noticed that, strangely, one of the doors seemed to be . . . ' she looked disbelieving for a moment, 'Opening and closing.'

'Eeek,' I commented. 'That must have been freaky.'

She stared at me for my word usage. 'It was extraordinary, yes. Cautiously, I advanced to the room, and entered it. It seemed perfectly normal. I had expected the windows to have possibly been open, letting in a breeze. But the windows had not been opened for years.' She stopped stirring her white sauce. 'It was most peculiar.'

Dude . . . you need to update your vocab.

'What happened then, Abigail?' Paul asked gently.

She blinked. '. . . I cannot explain it,' she murmured to us, her eyes wider. She had brown eyes. They were honest. 'The door slammed shut. I called out to Richard. I just assumed it was him. That was when the banging started. Loud, overwhelming banging. And I tripped on things that weren't there. I went to run back to the door, then, oh dear . . . ' she suddenly went very white. 'I saw the most . . . horrible thing . . .'

She just kind of spaced out for a second. Her mouth fell open a little. She looked like she was reliving something truly horrible.

'. . . Richard was just . . . hanging there. On the back of the door. There seemed to be something wedged in his chest, and redness was drenching his shirt . . . ' she continued stirring her sauce, looking past us.

Stirring . . .

'I screamed and screamed. I didn't know how he got there, but it looked like he'd been speared to the door! The banging wouldn't stop . . . and I fell down again . . . and everywhere felt hot . . . and there were four flowers on the floor that weren't there before – '

'Were they burnt?' I demanded sharply.

Abigail nodded dumbly, still not looking at us.

'Mrs – um, Abigail?' CeeCee said nervously.

She blinked and looked at her. 'Yes, dear?'

'Your pasta sauce is burning.'

Burning . . .

'Oh, my!' she exclaimed, and turned the stove off. 'Oh, dear . . . ' The color had gone from a creamy, delectable white to a grayish, half burnt ivory color.

She stared at it in dismay, and sighed. 'I've made such a mess. Oh, goodness me . . . ' With a pained look, she took the sauce off the stove. It was now thick and lumpy. 'Richard won't be happy.'

'Do you have any kids, Abigail?' CeeCee asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

Mrs Head looked mournful for a moment. 'Richard never wanted children,' she said in hushed tones. 'He told me he'd had enough of them. It is fair . . . he worked hard. I suppose that a man can only work for so long there before he loses his interest in ever having children of his own.'

God . . . Mr Head had stopped his wife from ever having a family.

That's IT. I OFFICIALLY HATED THE GUY.

It is OFFICIAL.

Yeah. Right there.

Dick Head is a dickhead.

Grrr.

Paul was staring at Abigail curiously. 'Excuse me . . . where was it that your husband worked again?'

Abigail blinked. 'Well, isn't it obvious? He was the –'

'ABIGAIL? YOU SAID LUNCH WOULD BE FINISHED TWENTY MINUTES AGO. WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?'

Mrs Head's pupils shrank, like she'd just had a flashlight shone in her eyes. 'Oh, my,' she cursed.

Eww.

Did this woman ever swear? Did she have a swear jar? She needed to say shit.

And fuck.

Or at LEAST damn.

Not any of this "oh, goodness me" crap.

. . . God. Had Heady locked her up in this ritzy house all her life, or something?

Sure seemed like it. She was like a woman version of C3PO, only she wasn't gold and she didn't have any cheesy jokes.

'Those nice people here about the school, Richard,' she called to him, her voice going high the way mine did when I was freaked out of my mind.

'What? I thought I told them to see themselves out!' he barked. I heard harsh footsteps coming to the kitchen. He burst through the doorway, and glared at me. Being in front, and all. 'What are you still doing here?'

'We were asking your wife about what happened to her,' I said calmly, with a note of coolness in my tone. I REALLY didn't like this dude.

His eyes bulged. 'I have asked you to leave,' he seethed.

'And I asked them to stay a moment,' Mrs Head said defensively.

'Abigail, stay out of it,' he snapped angrily.

She fell silent, and went back to her new pot of pasta sauce.

'I have told you. I am very busy,' he narrowed his eyes at the three of us, 'And I would appreciate it if you did NOT interrogate Abigail – '

'We weren't,' I retorted. 'We were having a civilized conversation with your _lovely_ wife. Unlike THIS one, that we're having with a _not-so-lovely Dic_ – '

'We'll LEAVE now, Mr Head,' Paul stressed very loudly over me. He nodded to Abigail. 'Thank you for your hospitality.'

And we were seen out by a very angry Dick.

Once back in Paul's car, he exploded at me. 'WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!' he roared at me from the front seat.

I glared. 'He was being an asshole, so I –'

'He's EMPLOYING US, Suze! If you EVER shout at a client again, I'll – '

'You'll what?' I goaded, 'Make me sit in the corner?'

He glowered. 'Don't do that again, Suze. He'll fire us.'

'Such a horrible loss that would be,' I scowled.

CeeCee intervened. 'He's right, Suze. It's not just you who could lose your job. We all could. And he's paying us a lot for this. The least you could do is be nice to him, even if he isn't all that genial to us in return.'

I sat there, stunned at the fantastic betrayal of CeeCee.

It was even more infuriating that she was speaking the truth.

Damn it.

I crossed my arms angrily. 'Fine. I'll play nicely. But he IS a freak.'

'Duh,' Cee muttered. 'We'd better get back.' She paused. 'Where do you think Mr Head worked? Mrs Head was about to tell us, but then he yelled at her.'

Well, he certainly wasn't the mall Santa, that's for sure.

'I don't know,' Paul said softly.

'Male gigolo,' I guaranteed them.

CeeCee snorted.

'He was extra popular,' I explained. 'Having two dicks and all. One, namely, on his head –'

Go the wit.

'We're _leaving_ now,' spoke Paul, and we drove away from the Headquarters.

. . . Hehehe. Pun intended.

- 8 -

'Yoohoo! Everyone gather around. I've got something exciting planned for us tonight.'

Dani pranced around the house calling out to everyone, dragging them away from their normal activity and leading them to the entrance hall like the female Pied Piper.

Danielle's enthusiasm, though surprisingly bright, didn't catch on too quickly. I mean CeeCee, Paul, and I were just a little bummed after our meeting with Mr. Head. Adam and Jack just looked plain bored, while Jesse just remained . . . Jesse. Ghosts have the option of mingling in the spiritual plane when it gets too boring here on Earth. Lucky fools.

'Oh, I'm just so excited! I know you all will LOVE what I've arranged for this evening,' Dani squealed in excitement.

'What might that be?' Adam asked, boredly.

Dani ignored Adam. 'Forgive me, but I'm just so ecstatic about it all! We're all going clubbing tonight! Isn't that magnificent?'

'Oh,' I yawned, 'Goodie.'

'Don't sound so thrilled, Sue,' Dani sneered. 'It will be fun.'

'Cool. I've never been clubbing before,' said a wide-eyed Jack.

Paul stared at Jack sternly. 'Don't plan on starting now, little guy.'

'If I can't go clubbing,' Jack pouted, 'then what'll I do when you are all gone?'

Dani leaned down and put her hand on Jack's shoulder, making solid eye contact. 'I've made plans for you to stay at the hospital with Father Dominic. Just for tonight.' Jack scowled, muttering something under his breath. The poor kid, it just seemed like this had happened to him a lot. And I guess it had, especially with Rick and Nancy as parents.

Dani then patted his cheek and turned to the rest of us, saying, 'You all have an hour and a half to get ready. I expect you all to be _dazzling_.'

You gotta be kidding me. Clubbing? We were, like, in nowhere-land California. There wasn't even a mall there, so how could there be a nightclub?

'A nightclub?' CeeCee asked, cocking her head to the side, 'how'd you manage that?'

'Puh-lease. I'm Danielle Moore. Is there anything I _can't_ manage?'

Yeah. Keeping your mouth shut.

But instead of quipping with my biting wit, I asked, 'There's actually a club in this Podunk town?'

I couldn't believe it. I mean, it was such a quiet town. You would have never guessed.

But I guess there had to be something else to grab the tourist's money. Garlic gets old after awhile. And, not to mention, smelly.

'Oh, yes,' Dani replied, 'It's a new little place, actually, not more than two years old. I have a dear friend that frequents it, and he told me how amazing it was. I figured I might as well give it a try, to see and be seen. And besides, you all look a little washed out.'

She sent a shooting glare in my direction and added, 'Some more than others.'

I tossed my hair a little at her.

'Yes,' she continued in the epitome of British-ness, 'We do seem to be run off our feet lately. What with CeeCee's endless researching . . . Adam, buying all the necessary household supplies,' she nodded graciously at the two, 'Jesse searching the school, Paul,' she grinned toothily, 'watching everyone's back, me, well, doing everything a girl can do . . . '

She looked at me, with a nasty glint in her eye. 'And Sue, well . . . seeing things that aren't really there.'

'Shut up,' I snapped, at the same time as Paul muttering a humoured, 'Now, Dani . . . '

NOW, DANI???

SHE NEEDS A FREAKING HORSE TRANQUILIZER.

UGH!

I'm gonna kill her.

I _AM._

I SWEAR TO GOD ALMIGHTY, DANIELLE WILL PERISH.

_RELEASE THE KILLER BEES!_

MUAHAHAH!!! FEAR ME!!! LIGHTNING STRIKES ALL AROUND YOU!!! _THUNDER CRASHES_ –

'Suze? Did you go mental?'

Adam was prodding me in the arm.

I blinked. 'Sorry . . . spaced out in my deepest fantasies,' I said.

'You were whispering about lightning,' Cee's eyebrows were raised.

. . . Oh.

Maybe I AM mental.

That'd be the day.

They were the only two that had noticed me go off into my separate world. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and, startled, I turned to see Jesse nod down at me. I guessed he'd been there the whole time. I just hadn't realized.

Or, um, cared?

Yeah. I didn't care.

. . . Yeah.

'Hello, Susannah,' he greeted nobly. He gave me a sweet smile, and I felt my heartstrings being played with the gentleness of an angel's harp. I stared up at him momentarily, before coughing and looking at Adam.

'That Jesse? Hey Jesse,' Adam waved, to Jesse's butt.

Jesse turned around, noted the direction of Adam's gaze, and looked puzzled.

No, Jesse. Your butt isn't sexy enough to make Adam go homosexual.

Adam can't even see your butt, anyway.

'He's not a Leprechaun,' I said, finding it hard not to giggle. I reached up patted Jesse's cheek (face cheek, not butt EW) and added, 'He's up here.'

Adam, being of normal stature unlike Paul and Jesse, looked up. 'My mistake. I had no idea Jesse was a _giant_.'

'In more ways than one, right Suze?' Paul pitched in, curling his lip in a humored sneer.

I just stood there, appalled at what Paul was insinuating. What a filthy bastard! I couldn't believe he'd said that! Maybe _Paul's_ the one that needs the horse tranquilizers.

Or, you know, getting fried by lightning.

'Well, we haven't a lot of time to waste,' Dani said, looking boredly at her diamond encrusted watch. 'Sue, after all, needs all the time she can get to make herself presentable.'

'Do I have to go to the hospital?' Jack whined. 'I mean, there's nothing to do there. And Father Dom'll be gorked out on morphine the whole time. Can't I stay here with Jes-'

Paul broke in dourly, 'I think it's best you go to the hospital. Father Dominic could use some company.'

'Oh, let him stay, Paul,' I said, sticking up for the little guy. I mean, I'd feel the same way if I were him. The little dude didn't deserve to be stuck watching Father Dom at his frailest. Jack wouldn't have been as bored as he would have been depressed over seeing Father Dom like that. Dommy was, after all, his mentor as well as his friend.

'To get shoved down more dumbwaiters?' Paul demanded, sounding a little more overprotective than usual, 'I think not.'

I don't know what Paul's problem was. Jack was thirteen, not three. He more than learned his lesson about dumbwaiters. So, I argued, 'Jack can manage. And besides, Jesse will be here, right? Jesse is capable of handling him, aren't you Jesse?'

Paul gave me his trademark evil-glare and said, 'I'm not sure I want Jack to be "handled" by Jesse. Jack wouldn't be so pleased by that. You, on the other hand, don't seem to mind it so much.'

All right. That's IT. I was MAD. FURIOUS. GRRRRR.

I can't BELIEVE him. Paul Slater's got some nerve. He's got a lot of nerves! He's so nervy that he's . . . um, nervous?

Oh yeah, Suze. Way to put him in his place.

I growled at him, 'You son of a-'

Adam stepped between Paul and I, making him the only thing keeping me from ripping Paul's face to shreds. 'Would you two chill out?'

'Yeah,' Cee agreed, 'we're supposed to have fun tonight.'

'Paul's being a butt-head,' I grumbled.

Aren't I the mature one?

Well, you know what? He was being more than a butt-head. He was being a dickhead, just like our little boss. Next thing you know, he'll have Dani whipped and wearing an apron that says "Please don't feed the models" on it or something. Heaven knows Paul was already an oppressive, manipulative, argumentative, and-

Well, other bad things that ends in "ive" that I can't think of right now because of my blinding anger.

'Sue is right,' Dani said to Paul, 'I think Jesse will do a fine job. He's certainly strong enough. You'll use your muscle to fight them off if they bother Jack, won't you Jesse?'

Dani had placed her hand lightly on Jesse's arm, no doubt to get a cheap feel of his muscles. She gave him a quick wink, and then drew her puppy eyes back to Paul, who barely looked impressed.

Jesse actually blushed, and mumbled something humbly. Paul hardly seemed to notice that his girlfriend was totally scamming on him, but only because he had other issues to figure out.

Like how the club is going to fit him _and_ his big fat ego, for instance.

Dani, having not convinced Paul enough, slid into his arms and looked up at him, her lower lip in a slight pout. Paul looked down at her, and finally went, 'Fine. Whatever.'

Dani giggled and gave him a quick peck on the lips before saying, 'All right. Be ready in an hour and a half!' Dani took Paul by the arm and led him away.

It amazed me, it really did. Paul had a weak spot. A genuine weak spot! For DANI.

HAH! Now I know his weakness. All I have to do is get some rope and tie Dani to some train tracks and wait for a train to come by –

Whoa, 1920's movie villain much?

Everyone took Dani's ushering Paul away as a hint to start getting ready. Adam and CeeCee seemed a little eager to get out of the school, and Jack was chattering excitedly about all the things he and Jesse should do. I, however, was not too enthused about the whole thing.

First of all this activity required actually spending time in close quarters with Dani and Paul. Secondly, as pathetic as it sounds, I was the only one without a date. CeeCee had Adam and Dani had Paul. Who did that leave me with? No one.

So I kind of shuffled from the room, but not before Jesse touched me lightly on the shoulder and said, 'Have fun, Susannah.'

I have to admit my head did that little spinny-thingie I always hated it doing. Especially in front of guys. Especially in front of _Jesse_.

- 8 -

'Suze,' CeeCee said before coming out from the bathroom, 'I want you to be completely honest with me . . . '

DOES THIS MAKE ME LOOK FAT?!

As I was halfway through smiling at my insanity, she then stepped out from the bathroom, and my jaw dropped.

CeeCee let out a sigh. 'You don't like it.'

. . . Wow.

'No, Cee. I love it,' I gasped.

CeeCee really did look stunning. You could totally tell she was a different person from the editor of the school paper I once knew her as. She had on this mysterious dark purple asymmetrical top that tied kind of like a halter-top while the rest floated around the curves of her body. She coupled the top with some tight fitting black pants that had a little flare which her black boots peeked out from. She'd even wore her hair down for the occasion, crimping it in some places. Some of her white hair fell in crinkled waves, framing her white face perfectly. Classy, yet sexy. Definitely CeeCee.

Daaaaang.

CeeCee looked at herself in the full-length mirror unsurely. 'Really? You really think so?'

'Totally, Cee. I mean, are you even looking at the mirror?'

CeeCee giggled and looked back at the mirror, playing with hem of her shirt. 'I don't know. I mean I'm no model like Danielle. And I'm certainly nothing compared to you, Suze.'

I couldn't help but blush. Sure, I didn't look bad or anything. I actually looked, as Dani quoted earlier "presentable" in this baby blue tube-top that had rhinestones randomly set in the top, while the bottom part of the top was somewhat sheer. I'd managed to snag the last top in my size at H&M, a feat I was really proud of. My skirt was white and made of the same floaty material as my top and hung very nicely in lovely layers a good three inches above my knee. I even had some nice clear sandals. My hair was still blown straight from this morning, so all I had to do was run my straightener over it a few times.

But that did not mean CeeCee could go dissing herself. I mean, I looked okay. CeeCee looked amazing! I really couldn't get over how the dark purple of her top made her pale skin look so creamy white. CeeCee wasn't a model, that was true. But she didn't need to be, because her beauty was something unique, something none of the goonies that run the fashion biz would ever understand.

She was decent. And I think, that's what made her seem so beautiful to everyone who knew her.

She was a really good person. She had everything I only dreamed of having (when my dreams didn't include the horrid face of my abusive ex)…you know, success, happiness, excitement for life…love…

My life sucks. I need to get over it.

I gave her a smile. 'Cee. Please. You look like . . . gah, you look awesome. Really, really. I mean that.'

An obvious flush came to her white cheeks, and she beamed prettily. 'Make Adam go gaga?'

I poked her in the stomach, and she giggled. 'Adam will be goo. You will turn him into wobbly, oozy goo.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'Maybe I _should _change –'

'NO!'

'I was kidding, Suze. I am all for the gooifying of Adam McTavish.' She had a very flirty look on her face.

Jesus Christ, she was in love . . .

Her radiance was amazing. It was a vibe that affected all around her. Something beautiful, and rare.

The beauty of love.

Ugh. I was just me who always saw the dark side of love.

Not that Cole loved me, or anything. He was just a crazy person.

. . . At least he wasn't a cannibal. Or a serial killer.

Yet.

Oh, how I gulp.

'What about you? Plan on melting any hearts this evening, Suze?' CeeCee asked as I applied glittery blue eyeshadow to my eyes.

I almost gauged my eye out with the applicator. 'Um, not unless I use my laser vision,' I replied, trying to suppress a squeak.

'Come on, Suze, there's gotta be someone special. Spill.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

CeeCee smiled, 'It's Jesse still, isn't it?'

_**. . . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!**_

Eyeliner went everywhere. 'NO WAY. I mean, no. Of course not. You've gotta be kidding me, Cee.'

CeeCee frowned a bit in disappointment, 'I know. It was just a hunch. I mean, you seemed to be defending him earlier, and I thought maybe you two patched things up-'

'Hardly,' I mumbled, mostly to myself. I avoided the conversation further by pretending to look for my purse.

CeeCee snatched it from the bed and handed it to me almost apologetically. 'Sorry. I was just, you know, guessing.'

I couldn't stay mad at CeeCee for long. It's just that, you know, it kind of annoyed me. First Paul makes perverted cracks about us- I mean, Jesse and I- and then CeeCee. It really made me wonder if there was something I wasn't seeing . . . maybe something I didn't know.

Whatever it was, it could wait. Dani had an appearance to make.

'CeeCee! Sue! Hurry it up, we're going to be late!' Dani bellowed from downstairs.

You know, for someone so stick-like and skinny, she's sure got some lungs on her.

And it's _Suze_. GRRR! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ANYTHING BESIDES TROLL LOGIC?!?!

Gah. This was not going to be an enjoyable night.

. . . Little did I know, how true that statement would prove to be.

I gave CeeCee a look. She rolled her eyes a little, and I felt a surge of unbeatable triumph in my chest. YES. CEECEE LOATHED DANIELLE TOO!!!

. . . Or, um, got a little irritated by her.

But that was still something, right?

Yeah.

Hmph.

I should start the ADMA.

Anti-Danielle-Moore-Association.

. . . We'll have badges.

And jackets.

And contracts.

And free carrot cake.

With a high fat content. Hehehe . . . cop that, you anorexic freak -

'Suze, can I borrow those hair pins?' CeeCee asked me.

I shrugged, and handed her four. She slid them into her hair to keep it off her face.

I did my own hair up into an elegant high ponytail that hung straight down from the back of my head. I used to detest ponytails, but now my hair's longer, they actually look half decent on me.

Shows that a girl can change her mind, right?

I had sweet little bangs on either side of my face, so I didn't look too prudish with all of my hair drawn back. After applying gentle eye-make-up and a few pins to keep some of my hair up, I looked all angelic and innocent and crap.

Yeah. I'll just hide a gun down my top, or something.

Muahaha . . .

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' I called vaguely, brushing my hair again for good measure.

Jesse opened the door, but didn't enter, casting a wary eye over the underwear that was littered over the floor. I turned a hefty shade of scarlet, and he looked away quickly. 'Danielle would like you downstairs. She threatens to leave without the two of you.'

He was actually looking kind of windswept, or something. 'Susannah,' he breathed, when he'd looked at me properly, without the visuals of stray bras playing across his mind, '. . . You look lovely.' He nodded to CeeCee, 'As do you.'

'She can't hear you,' I reminded him, my cheeks now probably blood red.

'Is Jesse here or something?' CeeCee frowned.

'No. Invisible Easter Bunny,' I told her.

She smirked. 'Hiya Jesse.'

Jesse couldn't very well say hey back or anything. He just nodded towards her casually, causing the brush in her hands to lift and begin brushing her hair on its own. CeeCee giggled in good humor, looking flattered and nervous at the same time. I could tell that Jesse thought CeeCee was a decent girl. I mean, I remember the time Gina called Spike ugly and Jesse spilt nail-polish on her new swimsuit. No nail-polish, so far, so no problem.

'That's our cue, Cee,' I said. 'Jesse said Dani demands our presence, or they're leaving without us.'

We gathered everything, and with one last hair check, we were out. Before I left the room, Jesse tugged on my arm softly.

'You dropped this,' he said in that deep voice that used to make me melt. In his hand was one of the hairpins I was using in my hair. 'Oh,' I said lightly, though my heart was pounding, 'It must've fallen out.'

Jesse pinned back the loose hair that had come down when the pin fell out. I tried desperately to ignore my burning cheeks with no avail. A sudden overwhelming heat wave came over me when his hand accidentally brushed my cheek. My skin burnt brightly, and I felt very uncomfortable with his proximity, all of a sudden.

And suddenly a new nightmare haunted me. And I was still awake. But this one wasn't about Cole. It was about what had happened between Jesse and I. How we'd torn apart, and yet somehow found ourselves face to face again.

I don't know what was more scary. What happened five years ago, or what the future for us- I mean, me and Jesse- held.

'Thanks,' I nodded awkwardly. I hurried down the hallway to catch up with CeeCee, in an attempt to get away from Jesse before I had any other major costume malfunctions.

CeeCee, who'd been in my room on the fourth floor, by the way, was a few steps in front of me. I caught up with her, careful not to trip over my own feet. Suddenly, with a sideways look at CeeCee, it became a contest to see who could get to the bottom floor first . . .

With giggles of psychotic insanity, we raced each other down the stairs wildly. She was beating me.

Which was, you know, weird, because her shoes had a heel that must have been an inch bigger than mine. Makes you wonder why the hell we were racing down stairs with inappropriate footwear. But shut up.

Almost at the bottom floor -

I fell.

Yah.

Headfirst into -

Paul Slater's back.

. . . Oh, Jesus.

I crashed on top of him, and CeeCee started PISSING HERSELF LAUGHING.

Um, not helping the situation all that much? Adam, who was also obviously there, was laughing from behind me. And Paul was also laughing from beneath me, too. But not as hard.

With the equivalent humiliation of being caught naked on Live TV or something, I scrambled up, blushing like mad.

'Shit,' I said with a breathless quality, 'Sorry.'

Paul got up, and turned to face me, with a dark smirk.

Oh, holy cow . . .

WHY DID HE HAVE TO LOOK LIKE THAT?

I got hot all over again. Paul was dressed totally in black. Black jeans, black, tight-fitted shirt that made him look like a bouncer. Or Spike off of Buffy. Except Paulie wasn't a platinum baby. He was wearing a dressy black jacket that looked half-casual, half night-wear. His very demeanour reeked of sex. And darkness. It scared me all over again. His clothes were so dark. His tan. His shoes. His hair . . . The _only_ things that were light were his eyes. They were icy light. But they still froze me like I was in a dark, cold place. I took a step back, and just . . .

Um, lamely blinked.

Well, ugh.

Who died and made Paul a Greek God?

. . . There is no frigging justice.

Adam wolf whistled me. 'Looking good, Suze.' I turned abruptly to him, and nodded at his classy choice of attire. 'Back at you, Adam.' The man in question donned denim jeans, and a deep maroon dress shirt, giving him an undeniable air of sophistication. He'd even gelled his hair into little curly spikes.

Of course, when he grinned, the sophistication blew up, and you could tell straight away that he was a lunatic. 'What did you expect, Suze? How could a man of my obvious sexiness look anything BUT good? For shame, wench, for giving me such a lowly compliment.'

'You look very good, then,' I amended with a smile.

'And don't you forget it,' he scowled.

I was beginning to wonder where Dani was in all of this. I mean, she went through all the trouble to get Jesse to send for us, and she wasn't even THERE yet.

But right as my curiosity set off, in walked Dani cat-walk style, strutting her stuff. Like a rooster. WITH SKINNY CHICKEN LEGS.

Well fine. As a model, of course she had great pins. But that's not the point.

But oh my God . . . what was she WEARING?

. . . Whoa. Complacent, much?

Her outfit was like none I'd ever seen in my life. I couldn't imagine that outfit grazing any store shelves.

It turns out that it hasn't. Yet. Apparently, Dani had gotten it from this new Italian designer who created this piece specifically for her. His name was Paolo Giorgio Matrinelli . . . try saying that three times fast.

She of course, told us all this with a voice that was saturated with maddening pomposity. She said that this Matrinelli guy was going to be as big as Versace. Yeah. Sure.

. . . I sure hope not . . .

GRRRRR.

Get a load of this. Imagine a lacy red triangle top that tied in only two places, the neck and the back. Meaning that the whole thing was only held up by a grand total of four strings. Then imagine that top going with this black micro mini that was so short that it barely covered Dani's butt and some black fishnet tights that covered her long, twiggy legs.

On her left leg was this matching lacy red garter with some black lace trimming around it. She finished the look off with these tall black platforms that made her legs look even longer than I thought possible.

Her jewelry was also specially made for her. I bet Dani never has to set foot in a store. Anyway, she had this black pearl choker necklace on, and dangling from one of her ears was this huge peacock feather dyed red to match her top in honor of the club we were attending that evening, Club Peacock. The other ear had an onyx stud that shone mysteriously.

Well. SOMEONE had just stepped off the slut train.

She looked like a hooker. I am so serious. She looked like she was going to go street-walking.

I am so serious. I know it's low to call someone a hooker.

But you didn't see her.

. . . Shit. That was disgraceful.

I was appalled on her behalf. On the behalf of all women.

I noticed, with a surge of hot, prickly jealousy, that Adam was even leering at her. And Paul, well, we won't even go there.

. . . I'm almost sure we won't go there.

Well, okay. Paul looked like he wanted to screw her there and then.

Which made me angry. Because he kept casting looks over to me, as if COMPARING ME TO HER.

Well, OKAY. I know I'm not as FRIGGING SKINNY AS MISS UNITED KINGDOM. But at LEAST YOU CAN'T SEE MY UNDERWEAR UNDER MY SKIRT.

. . . You can't, right?

She'd COPIED my hair-straightening idea. It was as sleek as anything. Fiery red.

. . . I hope she gets cursed with regrowth.

Stupid darn skanky –

WHAT? She made all women look EASY.

No WONDER Cole thinks he can get lucky with me.

"HEY SUZE? WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE THAT SLUTTY MODEL FROM BRITISH TELEVISION, DANIELLE MOORE? IF YOU DRESSED LIKE HER, THEN THERE WOULD BE NO PROBLEM HERE."

Ugh!

CeeCee looked a little overwhelmed, and suddenly self conscious.

She looked as bad as I felt.

Dani gave me a malicious smirk. 'Oh, Sue, I do believe I said we were going to a night club. Not babysitting.'

'Yeah, I thought that you said a night club too,' I frowned. 'Makes me wonder why you've come out looking like a prostit–'

'OH, LOOK? A BIRD!' Adam yelled randomly, pointing with exaggerated dramatic movements at the roof.

We all stared at him.

CeeCee coughed, looking a lot less confident. 'I think we'd better go. Is Jack fine with Jesse?'

'Yeah,' Paul said to her. He was still looking at me with dark, sideways glances.

Still comparing.

I felt really low.

Really, low.

I was always low.

And bitchy.

. . . This night was going to _suck._

- 8 -

Sorry that was such a long time coming. We will try not to take as long with Chapter 17.

Love, Lolly and Hayley.

_**MERRY CHRISTMAS, OUR LITTLE CANDY CANES. **_


	17. Dirty Dancing

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO **SHARKFIN.**

Lolly has her reasons. Aina? THANK YOU.

And commendations to Gen Ken, who wrote the FUNNIEST review of all time. 

- 8 -

'Let me get this straight. You spent all day planning for this thing, and you didn't think to make dinner reservations?'

A light yellow glow cast off by the Golden Arches softened the look of incredulity on CeeCee's face, but not by much.

'It's not like I think about food all day,' Dani whined. She added, throwing a look at Adam, who seemed mesmerized, 'Unlike others.'

'Hey! I have a high metabolism!' was Adam's defense.

'We might as well go in,' Paul said, looking at his watch anxiously. I don't know what his hurry was. The night was young. I guess with each passing moment was one moment longer Paul had to contain his urge to screw Dani stupid or something.

Eww.

'I've never been to a McDonalds in all my life,' Dani whined, 'and I don't plan on starting now, either.'

Yes, you heard right. McDonalds, Mickey D's, The Golden Arches . . . whatever you want to call it, we were there. Dani, not having the foresight to plan dinner, left us to fend for ourselves in the only available dining establishment that provided food. Fast food, no less.

'But we're starving, my queen,' Adam put on his best Monty-Python-ish accent, 'Have mercy on us lowly peasants!'

Dani looked at the Golden Arches that loomed above in pure disgust. Even though the arches stood taller, it seemed as though even they were beneath her.

'It's not like it matters whether you eat it or not,' I sneered. 'You'll end up barfing it up afterward anyway.'

Paul looked irritated. He also still looked disgustingly hot. 'Let's just go in,' he said, brushing past us all and opening the door. We all filed in obediently after Prince Paul and Princess Danielle.

Immediately you could hear the frying of fries, the beeping of timers, and the screaming of little children. This particular McDonalds was no different from the rest, with its bright primary colors all around and a huge mural of Ronald McDonald on the wall. We were so out of place, being all dolled up and everything. I mean, most of the people in there were middle-aged moms in sweat pants and little kids who kept throwing their Happy Meal toys at each other.

We all joined the long line. Adam stared at the menu with such awe that he looked like a little kid at Christmas or something. 'I can just taste the fried greatness,' Adam sighed dreamily.

Dani looked like she was going to hurl. 'And I can just _feel_ my arteries clogging up.'

'Get a plumber,' I said.

The line moved surprisingly fast given how long it was. The cashier, a young guy about nineteen, called for the next customer. Dani pushed her way to the front of the line.

'Welcome to McDonalds, how can I –'

The cashier stopped mid-sentence and blinked a few times, his pale green eyes widening behind the dark rims of his glasses. 'W-wait a minute,' he stuttered, 'aren't you Dani Moore? Supermodel D-Dani M-Moore?'

'Why, yes,' Dani answered flatly. 'I'd like –'

'I'm Steve,' the cashier stammered, ignoring the fact she was about to give her order. 'I've sent you countless fan letters. I'm a big f-fan of your –'

Boobs.

'Oh, yes. Steve. Thank you for your kind words.' Dani hardly seemed interested in what Steve had to say. I doubted she even read a single of his fan letters. It was really a surprise anyone would waste their time writing Dani a letter. Obviously, they don't have the JOY of working with her on a daily basis.

She smiled falsely, and then continued, 'Now, I want a –'

'W-would you take a picture with me?' he asked Dani shyly, his cheeks turning the same shade of red as Ronald McDonald's hair. He fished a small digital camera from his pocket and shoved it in my hands absently and put his arm around Dani.

I thought about shoving that camera of his someplace very unpleasant, but I decided against it. I mean, who am I to crush this guy's disgusting fantasy? And besides, I kind of enjoyed the pained expression on Danielle's face as Steve smelled her hair. I prolonged the picture taking by pretending not to know how to use it, just to see the look on Dani's face. Aaah, priceless.

I snapped the shot and then handed it back to Steve, who looked like he wanted to faint. He held his sleek digital camera in the air and waved it around, proclaiming to the entire establishment, 'I just got a picture with Dani Moore!'

And that's when the shit hit the fan. Quite literally, since Paul tried to swipe the camera away by clawing at poor Steve. He must have been trying to protect his precious Danielle, or else he was insanely jealous. Either way, his attempts were only making the situation worse.

Steve, in his excitement over one lousy picture with Danielle, had made quite a scene. Everyone at Dani's name stood up, dropped their Big Macs, and high-tailed it over to the line to get a good look. They swarmed Dani, asking for her to autograph their napkins of their kids' Happy Meal toys or whatever else they could grab.

For the first time since I had met Dani, I felt sorry for her. I actually felt sorry for her. I mean, she couldn't even go to McDonalds without getting recognized and then hunted down by fans. I wanted to laugh at her condition . . . how helpless she looked with dozens of fans waving the McDonald's place mats in her face. But I couldn't. All I could do was stare.

She was, after all, still a bitch. Famous or not.

A light of hope came as the manager parted the crowd and grabbed us all, ushering us past the screaming fans and into the Play Place, which was now deserted due to Dani's arrival. He locked the door behind him, so no one could get in.

'God, Ms Moore, I'm so sorry,' he said, wiping sweat from his brow. 'My sincerest apologies. This is unacceptable, and it's all my fault –'

Dani ignored the manager and turned to us, her eyes ablaze with fire. She'd actually forsaken the colored contacts for the event and left them their normal piercing amber. 'What a mess!' she yelled, 'Now do you all see why I never come here?'

'I-I'm sorry Ms Moore,' the manager apologized, apparently thinking she was talking to him or something, 'Did our cashier bother you? I assure you, he won't be back to harass you anymore.'

Dani scoffed at us, and then turned back to the manager. She shrugged and said nastily, 'I'll have a salad. No chicken, please. And water.'

'It won't kill you to have a Coke,' CeeCee offered. 'Diet has no calories –'

'Sure, it won't harm my figure. But it'll do something terrible to my face,' Dani hissed at CeeCee for even making the suggestion.

Not much of a change, then. Her face, I mean. Ever since she came into that chapel, I knew I hated her. She didn't even have to open her mouth, and I knew that she was going to be a snobbish bitch.

It might have been that AND she was with Paul.

No. No, it wasn't that. I was glad they were together. Those snooty prima donnas DESERVED each other.

You know what's worse? Dani caused poor Steve to lose his job. She didn't even try to defend him or anything. After all of those fan letters he sent, she just let him get fired. Steve may have gotten his picture taken with Danielle Moore, but he just lost his job.

And who knew? What if Steve was paying his way through college with his earnings at Mickey D's, making shakes and flipping burgers? Then he'd flunk out and then he wouldn't be able to pay rent, and then he'd be out on the STREETS and he'd eat RATS and he'd get RABIES, and he'd DIE.

What? It COULD HAPPEN.

Dani was being way inconsiderate and she showed absolutely no compassion. Further proof that Dani Moore has a black hole where her heart should have been.

Or a Bermuda Triangle.

And then, what's worse, before the manager left to banish poor Steve, he turned and asked, 'What about your entourage? Would they like anything? It's all on the house.'

Entourage. We were Dani's ENTOURAGE. Like we weren't even worthy to be called her friends or something. Not like I'd WANT to be her friend or anything, but to be her freaking ENTOURAGE?!?! AS IF!!

Adam quirked up at the words "on the house". 'In _that_ case, I'll have – '

Only to be brought back by me, who jabbed his toe with my heel sharply. Adam doubled over in pain and went, 'Jesus, Simon. What's your problem?'

What's my problem?

WHAT'S MY PROBLEM?! HELLO??? We're eating dinner in a McDonald's PLAY-PLACE because Dani FORGOT to make reservations at a restaurant even though she had HOURS to do so, and now because of her celebrity we're forced to seek shelter in a place that smells like SWEATY KIDS and HALF-EATEN BIG MACS that reeked in the TRASH CAN. And some innocent guy just lost his JOB because of that evil CHIPMUNK-FACED UBER-BITCH. We got called her ENTOURAGE. Her _STAFF_?! Oh, and I'm forced to spend the rest of this WONDERFUL evening with her and Paul, and Paul's an ASS who keeps making TERRIBLE JOKES about me and Jesse because he thinks we SLEPT together, when Jesse was really just WATCHING me and its REALLY NOT FAIR because Paul has to look so HOT in black and it's hard for me to STAY _MAD_ at him when he looks so –

'Nothing,' I grumbled bitterly to myself. 'Nothing at all.'

CeeCee turned towards the manager guy, who was staring at her in an and . . . .you-are? way. How rude. 'We'll all just grab Big Macs and fries - '

'I already SPECIFIED that I wanted a salad and water!' Dani snapped bitterly.

'I'm getting a fillet-o-fish, a quarter-pounder with cheese, and a large fries and coke. And a milkshake. Chocolate,' Adam nodded.

CeeCee blinked. 'Pig.'

Paul rolled his eyes boredly. 'I'll have - '

'A Happy Meal. With milk instead of soda. Paulie needs his calcium,' I cut in for him. 'And don't forget the toy.'

He gave me an insufferable look, and went, 'McChicken meal. Lemonade.'

HE LIKES LEMONS, DOES HE? THAT'S GOOD. BECAUSE HE'S SOOOOOOOUR.

. . . Wow. You just beat your own record of lameness, Suze.

Way to go.

'What about you?' the manager asked, regarding me with a slow, cautious expression.

Whoa. I even scared the manager. I mean, this guy looked pretty tough, you know? I guess you kind of have to be when you have to deal with whining customers everyday that demand a refund because you accidentally put mayonnaise on their burger when they said to cut it.

'A cheeseburger sounds good,' I shrugged, quite satisfied with myself. 'Can you hold the onions, please?'

'Sure, sure,' the manager replied, jotting the order down. Then before he left – I'm not even kidding- he asked, 'Would you like fries with that?'

Adam snorted accidentally, meriting a sharp elbowing from CeeCee. Suddenly, I was glad that I used to work at Starbucks instead of the fast-food business. I couldn't imagine having to ask that question day in and day out and having people half-smirk when they answer, all because this was the only job you could do. I mean, it wasn't a very respectable position. It's waaay down there with school janitor.

No offense, you know, if anyone's a school janitor or anything.

. . . Heehee. I swear. I'm keeping a straight face.

Giggle.

'Yeah,' I smiled. 'Fries would be great.'

Anyway. After that, we all sat down awkwardly. Except for Paul who preferred to lean on the wall and attempt to look cool. We'll just ignore the fact that he was doing a mighty good job, in addition to looking eat-me-I'm-still-sizzling hot.

Stupid lawyer.

Dani sniffed in disdain. 'I can't believe I'm here,' she scowled quietly.

'Why is that?' I asked. Okay . . . so I was coming to the defense of Maccy D's. But come ON. I'd come to the defense of ANYTHING that Dani dissed.

Well, except for Paul.

Not that she WOULD diss him. She's too worried that he wouldn't keep giving her lovely fat orgasms.

. . . Stupid model . . .

Dani answered, quite bitchily, 'I have a nutritionist, a personal trainer, and several cooks. Why would I need to go here? I think I've gained ten pounds just _being_ here. It's utterly _disgusting_!'

'It's your fault we're here in the first place, so shut up about it,' I snapped.

I'm not forgiving her. Not for taking the day off and forcing me to go to Dick Headquarters and actually spend time with her partner-in-annoying, Paul. And especially not for forgetting about one small detail which was the reason we chose to eat here in the first place, causing a huge riot at the counter and the poor manager to take orders for us.

And what about that Steve guy? He lost his JOB because of her.

She can get away with all this guilt-free all because she's a famous model. A model of what, though? Clothes, lingerie, hats . . . stuff that doesn't really matter. It's just a bunch of pictures of her made up to just sit there and look pretty. And yet, people look up to her for that.

Somehow, I knew they wouldn't if they knew about what happened to Steve.

Or, you know, if they knew how she'd look down on the people who WEREN'T asking her to sign contracts for their hot-shot companies.

With a dark look at her, I rolled my eyes, and looked at CeeCee and Adam, who were mumbling to each other under their breath.

I wonder what they were talking about.

. . . Please let it be Dani-decapitating . . .

Or maybe wondering how much money they were going to contribute to the ADMA. You know. Anti-Danielle-Moore-Association, upon admittance. We WERE fundraising to have her offed by the British Mafia, after all.

Well . . . if there even was one.

Maybe the Chinese Mafia will do.

. . . Yeah.

Within a few moments, our food was delivered personally by Joe-the-manager himself, who even gave us free ice cream and loads of coupons on the house like the entire meal. We all ate our meal, except for Dani who took a few small bites and claimed she was full. She even gave her free ice cream to Adam, who took it without objection.

Paul was murmuring to her quietly, looking like he was having a silent argument with her. She insistently claimed, 'I _told_ you. I'm not hungry, Paul. Do _get over it_!'

Which got me wondering –

. . . Nah.

When we decided to leave, Joe took us through the kitchen so we could exit the back way, just in case anyone wanted to make any more attacks. Everyone filed out, but I stayed behind for a moment.

'I'm sorry for the mess we caused, Joe,' I apologized.

Well, someone had to. Dani never even said more than two words to Joe about it, even though he went completely out of his way. No apology, no thank you, no nothing.

Joe looked surprised, to say the least. I guess another thing about being a manager is that you never get apologized to. It was part of his job to make sure everyone was happy, even if no one showed an ounce of gratitude. 'No problem, ma'am. It's not often celebrities come here, you know. I guess we're not used to dealing with it.'

I grinned to myself suddenly. Oooh! 'Next time, we'll call ahead. This was sort of a last minute plan. You may not believe this, but Dani has a secret soft-spot for Big Macs.'

'Really?' Joe asked, his eyes wide in awe.

'Yeah. I'm sure she'd love to do some advertising. Do you have a pen?' Joe handed me a pen, and I jotted on his hand Dani's cell phone number. 'You can give this number to the marketing advisor. Have him give us a call.'

Satisfied, I put the cap back on the pen, shook Joe's hand, and left. This was going to be great. Sure, it wasn't the Chinese Mafia, but I had a feeling it would be way better. Oh, I couldn't wait to see the look of horror on Dani's face when she finds she has a million voice-messages from McDonalds, looking to her for advertising.

I'm evil. I love it.

I ran back to the cars – we had to take two, Paul and CeeCee's – with a victorious smile. Dani, who was about to get in, asked huffily, 'What were you doing? We're going to be late.'

'Nothing,' I replied again, this time not at all bitterly, 'Nothing at all.'

- 8 -

We arrived at the club right on time. I mean, its not like you can be late for clubbing. You pretty much party all night long, anyway. Not that I would know or anything, but from the stories Adam and CeeCee told of their clubbing adventures, you pretty much don't get home until the wee hours in the morning.

But then again, maybe this was a totally different club. I mean, judging by its location in The-Middle-Of-Nowhere California, I doubted there'd be much to it. And I was right.

I was able to see the club right as we exited the highway. It wasn't hard to spot, especially since it was the ONLY THING out there. I'm serious. A tree or two on the left, Club Peacock, and grass on the other side. NOTHING.

I thought nightclubs were bigger than that, especially one that was frequented by supermodels. From the outside, it looked just looked like an insurance agency or something. The one thing that set this little place aside was the fact that it was more modern than other buildings in Gilroy. It didn't scream small-town-charm like everything else did.

We pulled into the parking lot, which was kind of crowded due to the fact that clubbing was quite possibly the only thing to do in such a small town. Adam, CeeCee, and I all got out of the car and met Paul, who was leaning with his muscular arms folded across his equally muscular chest.

'Where's Dani?' CeeCee asked Paul. I don't know how she did it. Be all casual around Paul, I mean. She was able to maintain eye contact and her eyes never drifted downward to catch a peek at his biceps or anything.

I guess the only immunity to Paul Slater's good looks and overall hotness is true love.

Paul answered, 'She'll be out in a second.'

Right as he said this, the door opened and Dani slipped out in a red tight-fitting fur-lined jacket and these designer sunglasses.

I'm not kidding. Sunglasses. At NIGHT. She scanned the area cautiously, and in her low British accent she said, 'Let's go.'

Who does she think she is? A British Carmen Sandiego or something?

Adam, CeeCee, and I stared. She did, after all, look completely ridiculous, like something out of a bad detective movie.

'What are you looking at?' Dani demanded, hands on hips and tapping her heels.

'What's up with the coat?' Adam asked boldly. 'You going incognito or something?'

Paul glared at us impatiently. 'Let's just go in already,' he said, taking Dani's arm and leading the way to the entrance.

Well, everything was weird. Seriously. I felt weird. CeeCee looked like she was feeling weird. And Dani LOOKED weird.

Weirdness was all around. I felt like I would choke from the oddity.

We made our way to the entrance line and stood to wait. It wasn't such a huge line, but the wait seemed very long. I don't know what was making me more antsy, wondering what the club was like or actually wanting to get this over with quickly. I was looking forward to it, and yet I dreaded it.

The bouncer at the front of the line was huge and very scary looking. He was wearing this black muscle shirt which showcased his mega-biceps that were covered with tattoos. He had this really thick handle-bar mustache and a black bandana on his head. This was SO not the guy you wanted to mess with.

CeeCee and Danielle got in no problem. Obviously, Mr. Big-Mean-Bouncer-Dude had a favoring towards the women. In fact, I noticed that the success rate for making it in this club relied on three things: looks, age, and sex.

Not sex as in SEX, but sex as in, you know, gender. Just clearing that up . . . heehee.

Adam and Paul were a little different. He didn't check their ID or anything, but he looked them up and down at least twice and then grunted, obviously approving of them. They all waited on me, the last person of the group to be checked.

But when I got there, the bouncer said, 'Hold on there, missy, I'm gonna need to see some ID.'

'W-what?' I asked, not really comprehending. Me? ID? I'm twenty-freaking-three years old!

'You heard me little missy, I need to see your ID,' the bouncer replied, this time leaning a huge muscular arm in front of the doorway.

Paul started laughing.

I stared at it with wide eyes. Geez, was this guy on some major steroids or what? He looked like on of those body-builders that are so muscular that their veins pop out when they flex. It was almost disgusting.

But, I felt a little brave. Or maybe it was my stupidity. Whatever it was, I spoke boldly, 'But I'm twenty-three!'

He grunted at me and tilted my chin upwards to look him straight in the eye. 'You don't look twenty-three,' he sneered.

Well . . . I BET YOU'RE BALD UNDER THAT BANDANA. SO HAH.

Reluctantly, I fished out my ID and showed it to him.

Honestly, I was so horrified. ME? NOT TWENTY THREE?

HOW INSULTING.

It's the lack of wrinkles, isn't it?

GAWD.

He scrutinized the ID carefully, murmuring my birthday under his breath. 'Okay,' he said finally. NO APOLOGY.

I was so embarrassed. That I looked, you know, not even eighteen and all. CeeCee and Adam had these HUGE grins on their faces.

'Thanks for jumping to my defense,' I glumly said.

Adam laughed. 'Ha. Nah, if he got nasty, I would have rode in like the knight in shining armour that I am.' He wrapped one arm around CeeCee's waste, and she leaned into him. A slightly mournful feeling depressed my heart for a split second, but I disregarded it. 'I'm sure you would have,' I nodded, 'Sir Prancelot.'

'I resent that!' he cried, as he led me and his girlfriend into Club Peacock.

What a gay name.

Instantly, the stench of alcohol pounded me full on in the fact. I squinted momentarily as neon lights were flashing all around the joint. It wasn't all that big. There was a bar, and a dance floor, and stairs that lead . . . um, upstairs. What are the odds, huh?

That was about it.

However, the music was good enough. Some Destiny's Child hit was belting out as a DJ of some description was bobbing his head – peacock style – to the beat. Beyonce's voice yodeled around the club, and there were a flock of colourful, shimmering bodies dancing. Not like, hundreds. But about fifty, which wasn't all that sucky for this small town disco.

I was still majorly put out about the let-me-see-your-ID-little-missy thing, but with a small thrill and an infectious smile, I followed Adam and CeeCee onto the dance floor, giving a once over at all of the tasteless/tasteful outfits that the seemingly quiet Gilroy-ians donned.

Adam gave a huge grin, and seized CeeCee's hand. 'Woot! Let's dance, Cee!' and he yanked her after him as she let out a squeal of excitement.

I saw that Paul and CeeCee were already dancing.

Well, they were TRYING.

. . . Oh, okay. They were succeeding.

In fact . . . they were both very good. Hmph. Dani's model-ism, and Paul's . . . um . . . I dunno. Maybe his _loveable_ parents had sent him to ball room or something.

Allow me to snigger.

Lets just say that, the way they were dancing – well, um, Father D, had he accompanied us, would have had a coronary on the spot.

It wasn't very Christian.

This, however, left little seventeen-year-old-look-a-like Susie all on her own. Deflated, I moved over to the bar, and took a seat.

Furtively, I tossed my hair, and looked back to where Paul and Dani were practically having vertical intercourse, and threw Dani a dark look. Her, and her impeccably made up face . . .

She looked like such a skank. I am so serious. Like she'd just popped out of Pretty Woman when Richard Gere got lost down town while looking for Beverly Hills, and there were all those prostitutes walking around. ONE OF THEM.

Paul and Dani looked like one person dancing. They mirrored each other, almost.

This was a mistake. I should have stayed with Jesse and Jack, playing a nice game of Bullshit, as opposed to putting up with that that Paul and Dani were likely to fling at me sooner or later.

An old wizened looking guy who worked at the bar slouched over, looking bored. 'What you want?' he asked.

A life.

I was about to order a light beer, when this guy I'd never seen before in my life sidled up next to me, leant over, and whispered, 'It's on me.'

I stared at him. 'Nah, I'm fine – '

'Honest,' he shrugged. He gave me a sneaky little grin, and I blushed. 'Oh, um . . . okay,' I mumbled. The bar guy looked impatient. 'I'll just have a light beer,' I said, and smiled at the stranger.

He wasn't anything spectacular to look at. He looked a little country-ish for my taste. He had pale brown hair, and a nice looking face. Like he was a decent guy.

Heaven knew the only one I knew existed was currently in hospital, strictly under the pledge.

And on Morphine.

'I'll have the same,' he grinned at the bar guy, who rolled his eyes and went off to fetch the order.

Country-ish Guy sat down next to me, still grinning.

He grinned a lot.

Like a Cheshire cat.

'Thank you,' I said shyly. Seriously. I wasn't flirting at all. Well . . . not yet. Again, he just grinned, and was all, 'Oh, it's nothing.'

I detected a very faint Southern quality of his accent. He obviously wasn't from around here.

I hope to God he's not from Alabama . . .

Where cousins make merry –

Nothing.

'So,' he conversed, as two ice-cold bottles were rested on the bench by the grouchy bar guy, 'What would your name be?'

I blinked. 'Suze,' I said. 'Well, Susannah. But not Susie, if don't want a testicle retrieval operation this time tomorrow.'

He laughed. 'Okay, Suze. I'm Benjamin. Ben. And like you, I will not stand to be called Benji. My son does that to annoy me.'

'Son?' I asked, staring at him a little.

He looked awkward. 'Well . . . er, his mother and I, we're . . . er, not together.'

Oh, please don't tell me he was ancient. He didn't _look_ it, but hey, plastic surgery does wonders for some people. 'How old's your son?' I asked, for an indication of his age.

'Five,' he answered. There was a funny look on his face. I suddenly got the impression that this "son" had been conceived in highschool or something.

Great. I'm talking to a man-whore.

But he seemed nice enough. He bought me my beer, right?

Yeah, Suze. And that's not just the oooooooooldest pick-up tactic.

I sipped at the beer. It tasted harsh and cold in my mouth. I relished the blatant shock.

'I'm here for my son's birthday,' he explained. 'Luke. He the greatest little guy a dad could ask for. He just loves dogs. I used to buy him all dog stuff when he was a baby. It was his first word. So, for his birthday, I got him a golden retriever. You should have seen his face. He was so happy.'

Aww. How cute.

'You must be eighteen or something,' he sculled his bottle, so it was over half empty now.

I snorted. 'Eww, no. Bouncer outside asked for my ID too. I'm twenty three.' My cheeks reddened. 'I guess I didn't eat my veggies when I was a kid.'

'So, you're not from Gilroy, right?' Ben asked.

I laughed. 'God, no. I – I mean, not that there's anything wrong with this place, it like, has total old-town charm and all, and the pizza is really great, and the garlic, though really gross, is very interesting, it's just that I'm a materialistic kind of girl and I'd die if I didn't have a mall somewhere near – not that I'm all that into malls, I like, get sensory overload and stuff – '

He was staring at me like I had taken to gnawing the neck of my beer bottle.

I flushed. 'Sorry,' I said, 'Um, I talk a lot when I'm nervous.'

Okay. So maybe I _was_ flirting. Just a little.

Or, you know, to cover up for that display of utter loserism up there.

He went back to the grinning thing. 'That's cool,' he said. 'So, let me guess . . . New York?'

I beamed. 'Uh huh. It's my accent, right?'

He nodded.

'Originally, yeah. I'm a Big Apple gal. But at the moment, I'm here from Massachusetts.'

'What you doing in Gilroy? Family?' he frowned cutely. Really, this guy wasn't all that hot. But he was getting more and more attractive as I spoke to him. Nice guy.

Or maybe it was just the beer.

Apparently, beer makes people 25 percent more good looking.

Ugh.

'No,' I said hesitantly, 'Um . . . business.'

'What do you do?' he asked.

Oh, God.

'If I told you, I'd have to kill you,' I quipped, sipping my lovely alcohol. How _original_.

Again, he laughed. 'I love a girl with a humour,' he drawled, leaning his upper body a little closer to me.

What he didn't realize was that I was kind of serious.

With the killing thing, I mean.

Well, okay, not so much.

But I would SO not tell him.

'Funny, you think I'm joking,' I smiled. His grin widened. You know, this is what I liked. Just sitting down and having a nice conversation with –

'Want to dance?' he stood up.

. . . RUIN it, why don't you???

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. 'Oh, um – sure.'

He offered his hand, and led me onto the dance floor. There were gyrating bodies everywhere. There was a distinct smell of sweat in the air, now. It was hot. In the center, I noticed that Paul was showing off with Dani. He cast me a look of uncalled annoyance, which turned into a dark grin as his dancing got even more, um, graphic. Then, he disregarded my presence totally.

He was taking _Dirty Dancing_ waaaaaaaay too seriously.

Ben started, you know, doing his thang, which looked a little odd. I too danced about, with stylish twists of my body. I'm a good dancer. I know that. I just, you know, don't club all that much.

As in to say . . . this is my first time.

Really, it's actually majorly sad.

The song was Justin Timberlake's latest disaster. In the half-light, Ben actually looked kind of hot. There were shadows all over him. But you know, he wasn't anything spectacular. Well, goes to show that hotness isn't everything.

So screw you Paul. Your personality is dung-worthy.

The song ended. I mean, we'd come up about three quarters into it. I went to turn around and head away, when his hand gently came to my wrist. With a smile, he whispered to me, 'Another song.'

I blushed, and moved back in front of him.

And then, to my horror, _She Will Be Loved _came on.

Very stiffly, I put my hands around his neck. His found their way on the small of my back, and he stood a LOT closer to me than I would have originally liked. But I realized that this was the slow dance way. The intro of Maroon 5's number was one that like, everyone knew. It's beat pounded eloquently, and then the lead singer began in rich tones that made me cringe.

Just don't listen to the lyrics, Suze.

Gawd.

The flashing lights slowed to slow blues and purples that glided across the floor. One caught on CeeCee's brilliant white hair. Adam and her looked so . . . in love. Her head was rested on his shoulder. Match made in heaven.

Beauty.

Ben's breath was on my cheek. There was a sick feeling in my stomach, and a merciless tugging at my heart.

_I've had you so many times but,_

_Somehow I want more . . . _

Oh, man.

With a shuddering breath, I closed my eyes, trying to sink away from the song. Ben's feet were getting a little messed up. He wasn't a brilliant slow-dancer. More than once, I almost tripped. I was grateful, because it drew me away from the song.

_Look for the girl with the broken smile,_

_Ask her if she wants to stay a while._

There was no pounding of my heart that was meant for Ben.

Like I said. He was a cool guy. But I didn't, you know, feel all that attracted.

But he was nice.

_It's compromise that moves us along.  
_

That was when Ben's hand lowered.

To my butt.

I gasped, and went to move away, but straight away his arm went stiff, and he shushed me gently. 'Shhh,' he went, and then, showered his head to kiss my neck.

UM, A LITTLE FAST, BUDDY?

'Hey,' I hissed at him, leaning my head back, and shoving a little against his chest, 'What are you doing?'

He just grinned. 'Enjoying your company,' he said simply.

_Alone in your car_.

_Know all of the things that – _

'Well, that's great,' I blushed deeply. The damned song was circling darkly in my head, like a cloud of toxic gas. 'But, I'm not into kissing.'

He groaned. 'Come on,' he said, and added as an after thought, 'I like you.'

I swallowed, and just looked down. 'Um, it's just – '

But he took the opportunity to pull me back against him, and keep dancing like he was the Cat's Pajamas.

He really had a high opinion of himself. GOD.

Looked like that Nice Guy thing was just an act.

And once again, I found myself almost completely defenseless.

With a finger that now felt like cold iron, he brushed my hair off my face, and just grinned. Grinned.

'Come on, Suze,' he said again, in a subtly impassioned growl.

Shit.

Another one.

_And she will be loved._

_And she will be loved._

'Look,' I glared at him, 'You're a nice guy, but I'm not interested – '

This was somehow interrupted by him attempting to kiss my face. SERIOUS. THIS GUY COULD NOT TAKE A HINT.

I turned my head away, desiring most in the world to be able to kick his ass so bad, but being completely incapable –

Ben was jerked away from me suddenly.

'Excuse me, is this guy bothering you?'

Paul had showed up, and was glaring at Ben. I was staring at him – Paul – in slight shock. 'Um,' I said intelligently.

'No, we're fine,' Ben grinned, sounding very slightly defensive. 'This is Suze. Suze is fine – '

'Shut up,' I said bitterly to Ben. 'I _came_ here with this guy. He's my colleague, Ben. And yes, I was _fine_, Paul. I can handle myself.' I wanted to, you know, keep dancing with Ben just to spite a certain lawyer, but that would have, you know, put me in a certain danger. Just because of the STUPID Cole thing, Paul was acting like I couldn't even tell ONE guy to get a hint.

Which at that previous moment, I couldn't. But I was SO almost about to beat the crap out of him if he'd made any more moves.

. . . Eventually.

Paul gave me a stony look, which again, turned into a sardonic looking smile. 'Oh,' he said. 'My mistake. Proceed, Suze.'

And he left, to go join Dani again, who was glaring acidly at me from across the club.

Ben smirked, right as the song ended. Not grinned, smirked. The lights froze in their places as the last line carried on, resting a gentle blue on everyone in the crown.

_Please don't try so hard to say goodbye._

With a vicious look, I spun around, and stalked back to the bar. 'Hey, hey – wait!' he called, but I didn't listen.

NOT INTERESTED.

Once at the booze counter, I had to buy my own drink this time. The first bottle was still there, but it ran the risk of, you know, being spiked or something while I was out. No, I don't mean someone put dearest feline Spike into a blender and then poured him into my beer.

That would be gross.

I'd cough up a fur ball.

It was really embarrassing, actually, how I had to really look in my bag for the money. Seriously. I had no idea how I was surviving with only like, ten dollars in my pocket at each separate time. It really wasn't cool. I, however, found a bill, and shoved it at grouchy-bar-guy, and he went and got me another light.

With a disheartened feeling, I rested my head in my hands heavily. I'd had high hopes for Ben. You know, hoping that he was one of the good ones. The ones that were so rare these days.

Alas – ker-plop.

He was a jerk.

Like the rest of them.

I BET HE WAS GAY, ANYWAY.

My head was starting to pound.

Was there ANY good guys left out there?

I mean, even the dead gentlemen always managed to break your heart. I just didn't understand how I always seemed to attract these complete assholes.

Looks like CeeCee had scooped up the last decent one.

My beer appeared in front of me.

Good. I needed alcohol. Drown my woes.

Maybe I should become alcoholic. I need a hobby, right?

Oh well. I did NOT need another guy at the moment. The Cole thing was getting blown out of proportion. I didn't need to be slapped across the face anymore than the current frequency.

I sighed, and downed the rest of the new bottle I'd bought. A different song began thumping away, making my head get dizzier.

CeeCee came up, bubbling. A different CeeCee from five years ago. Very different.

'There you are! I've been looking for you, and you're here, sucking grog. Jeez. God, this is so much fun,' she beamed. 'I haven't been clubbing in AGES.' The flashing lights were gleaming in her violet eyes, making them dance with a mystic quality.

I forced out a smile. 'Yeah,' I said. 'You look great. I think that Adam wants to eat you. And not in a cannibalistic way,' I wriggled my eyebrows.

She giggled like a Kelly-Prescott-wannabe. 'Hey, who was that guy you were with?'

God. Don't remind me.

'Who cares,' I shrugged.

'Oh, another member of the Suze Fan Club?' she smiled.

'Sure,' I drawled sarcastically. 'I'm handing out badges now . . . want one?'

'Aww, come on,' she laughed. 'He wasn't _that_ bad. I mean, he wasn't exactly what you'd call hot, but . . . you know. He was do-able.'

I blushed. Do-able? How would I know what doable was, when I hadn't DONE anyone?

Susannah Simon still virtuous.

Almost as pathetic as –

Actually, no. I think that's pretty much the epitome of pathetic.

And with CeeCee and Adam obviously doing it like bunnies, well, that just makes me seem even more crappy.

Instead of very tactfully voicing all of this, I muttered, 'Meh. Seen better.'

CeeCee's eyes narrowed in an evil grin, and she focused her look past me. 'I bet you have,' she agreed.

I turned in the direction of her gaze.

What? There was only Dani and Paul –

'PAUL?!" I demanded hotly in complete outrage, 'CeeCee! I'm surprised at you!'

She fanned herself dramatically, rolling her eyes. 'Oh, God, Simon. Get some eyes. He's the hottest thing. It just so happens that I'm hopelessly in love with Adam. So maybe the second hottest thing. We've known that Paul was a god since eleventh grade.'

I scowled at her. 'He's a pig,' I said. 'He . . . snorts.'

She looked like she was getting frustrated with me. 'Come _on_,' she rolled her eyes again expressively. 'I think you still like him. I've seen how you look at him – '

'Hey,' I said, starting to get mad, 'That's like, not happening. I thought you of all people would respect how much I hate him. Don't you _realize_ what he did to me? To me and Jesse? That's something I'm not going to forgive just because he wears all black to a club and looks really – um . . . SO not the point . . . I hate him. And that won't change.'

She snickered. 'Jeez, no need to get touchy. Okay, okay. You aren't captivated. I get it.' She turned boredly, and waved to Adam as an indication of her, um, location in the very small club.

Adam pranced over, looking very flushed. 'This was such a great idea,' he half-yelled, 'Remind me to give Dani a Christmas card.' He saw me, and then my beer. 'May I?' he asked. 'I'm cootie-free.'

I passed him the bottle, and he finished it off cheerfully. You know . . . Adam perplexed me. I could not imagine where he found so much joy in life. Where did he get the strength to smile all the time? _Genuinely_ smile?

He's happy.

That was is, wasn't it?

Adam McTavish was happy.

He wasn't rich. He wasn't famous. He wasn't drop-dead-gorgeous but he had one thing that I'd probably never have.

He had love.

And I guess it lifted him up.

But it was more than that. He drew out a delight for life that I couldn't begin to understand. The way he told his jokes, his constant goofy look, his affection, his passion in everything . . .

And I envied it all.

He saw my less than thrilled expression. 'So, Susie babe. Want to dance? I mean, CeeCee's cute and all, but she hasn't got the whole "short skirt" thing going on. That's the only thing that attracts me to your bloody women,' he complained jokily. I smiled at him for a few seconds, and his faded a little. 'What?' he asked.

'Nothing,' I said. 'Only if Cee comes too though.'

CeeCee beamed at me.

Adam did also.

'Sure,' he grinned. 'Hey, Suze, maybe Cee doesn't mind if you join us tonight in our adventures. I've never done two – '

Before he could finish that sentence, CeeCee elbowed him, hard.

I laughed anyway.

A song that I'd never heard of came on. But it was funky, and had the best beat. Me, Adam and Cee started acting like psychopaths. Well, I doubted that Adam was acting. But whatever.

We weren't in the center of the floor. We were to the side, where there were couches and stuff with a lot of people sitting down. Mostly girls. They were all looking at Adam up and down, since he was the closest male and all. A lot of them didn't look too turned on, but whatever.

I continued dancing, and laughing at stupid things that Adam was doing. CeeCee was looking both embarrassed and in love. The beat was vibrating beneath our feet, pumping right through our bodies as sound tends to do.

When we kind of rotated again, I noticed that Ben was now sitting in front of me. However, he wasn't looking at me. He probably didn't notice that I was there. No, he was just, oh, I dunno, cracking on to this poopsie blond who looked like she was solely here to get laid.

I heard him say something that made me scowl very, very deeply.

'I mean, "dog" was his first word. So I got him a beautiful golden retriever for his birthday – '

I muttered to Adam and CeeCee to excuse myself, and I then went and planted myself next to the blondie. Her hair was glistening against the coloured lights. 'Hi,' I said brightly. 'I see you've met Benji.'

I then whispered something very quietly into her ear, and left.

When I turned around again, Ben was trying to lean over the blondie, who looked utterly disgusted.

Oh, goodie.

CeeCee and Adam were watching, looking highly amused. 'What was that all about?' CeeCee asked dryly.

I shrugged. 'I don't like the guy.'

'That's apparent,' she raised her eyebrows. 'What did you say to the bimbo?'

I sniggered. 'Just a friendly warning.'

'Which was . . . ?'

'That _Benji_ could not only not get it up, but that he also had a little problem with premature ejaculation. Oh, and bedwetting.'

'HA!' Adam exploded with laughter. 'You're not as dumb as you look, Suze.'

'As opposed to you,' I smiled. '_Dumber_ than you look.'

CeeCee giggled. 'Eww,' she wrinkled her nose. 'Oh my God, he's giving you the most filthy look. And the bimbo's sitting with her friend, pointing at him. She looks grossed out. Wow, Simon. That was good.'

I shrugged again. 'I do what I can, your majesty.'

When we were dancing again, I saw Paul starting to come over. Instantly, my cheeks blew up, crimson. I rotated us all subtly so I wasn't looking at him.

But he came anyway.

'Excuse me, Tarzan,' he grinned at Adam, 'May I cut in?'

'Why of course, Sir Gothika!' Adam cried, and spun around, dancing away.

I just stared at him nervously. CeeCee stared me with a grin, and went to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist with a snake-like movement.

Paul raised an eyebrow. 'Suze, would you mind moving?' He stepped closer to Cee, who looked stunned.

. . . Oh.

He wanted to dance with CeeCee.

. . . I'm such a_ loser._

'Right, um . . . sorry,' I stuttered quickly, and got the hell out of there. Paul's smug grin burnt on the back of my neck. I felt like I'd suddenly lost a _lot_ of energy.

With heart hammering heavy with humiliation – wow, alliteration – I was off the dance floor.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ . . .

He did that on purpose.

He knew I'd react like that.

That _asshole_.

The intense coloured lights were flashing across my irises, feeling as if they were creating permanent colour spots in my mind. I squinted against them, feeling my head get very, very dizzy. I guess the light beer was taking its toll. I should have laid off.

Parting through the thickening crowd, I made my way to the door. Instantly, I was gusted with cool night air that both stung and soothed my face, and the pong of alcohol left me, leaving me to think that little bit clearer. I smoothed down my skirt needlessly, and tossed my hair.

The bouncer guy leered at me as I walked out. Yeah, now he knew that I wasn't under-aged, and all. Ugh. How embarrassing. I mean, getting into the movies as a student is pretty cool. But not getting into a night club easily? That's just damned shameful.

So, due to the bouncer guy's hairy eyeballs, I wandered a little further down the street, and sat on the curb. It really was a quiet, town, this Gilroy. The garlic smell still lingered in the cool night air like a bad after taste. A club seemed very random, in fact. Out of place for such quietness. It was like totally typical of Dani to find it though. Hmph. I was worried when I first stepped in. It seemed to small for her and her bazonka boobs.

But whatever.

. . . I hope SHE gets stuck in a dumb waiter one day.

AND NEVER GETS FOUND.

Muahaha.

I hope SHE knows what it's like to get swiped brutally across the face, and knocked into a brick wall –

Wait, no I don't.

Of course I don't.

What the hell am I saying?

. . . That's a fate that no one deserves.

Not even PAUL, if he ever, you know, got a sex-change.

And you know, that's saying something. That what Cole had done to me was wrong in every possible way. Domestic violence. Abuse. Girl-beater.

I couldn't bare to accept the fact that I'd sunk this low . . .

And that _Paul Slater_ knew about it.

I couldn't understand whether that was a good or a bad thing. I mean . . . _now someone knew. Maybe I wouldn't be so scared . . . _

But then, the way that Paul was making me feel about it – holding it against me and all – I don't think that it was worth him – anyone – knowing.

But maybe Paul was right.

Maybe I didn't deserve it.

I mean . . . I know that God is a complete and utter jerk-off. But surely he wouldn't think that THIS was justice, right?

Sending Cole to beat the crap out of me, I mean.

Constantly.

And all the other guys, too. Using me like I was some temporary thing. Some object.

Maybe I needed to start dating nerds.

That would totally solve this problem, right?

Wow. How weird. Maybe I should just stick with Brad.

I mean, _Dopey_.

Ha. Eww.

"HEY, SUZE, MY VIVACIOUS VIXEN? GUESS WHAT. BEING DOPEY, I AM SO DUMB THAT I ONLY JUST FIGURED OUT SOMETHING. WE'RE NOT _BLOOD RELATED_!!! SO LETS GET IT ON, MY JUICY JELLY-BEAN. LETS MAKE BABIES."

. . . _Damn,_ I need therapy.

God. I'm so unloveable.

I am cursed. Seriously. My love is cursed. Madame Zara was a fraud. That one-love-for-all-eternity was bullshit.

Unless she meant chocolate. Then she was pretty okay.

But seriously.

I don't think that I CAN be loved. Not my heart, anyway.

Maybe, I _was_. But that was the past. Something that I clung onto with every fibre of my being, at the same time as I yearned to just forgive and forget.

I couldn't forget, though.

And I could certainly never forgive.

My life. My disaster.

I released an exhale of breath, and brushed the strands of hair behind my ears. The hair was wasn't up in my high ponytail. One that I actually liked.

I used to hate ponytails.

Hate them.

Things change.

For better of for worse . . .

Music was thumping from the club, loud and constant. It was so much quieter out here, though. I could think. A good and a _horrible_ thing.

So my hearing was heightened when I heard footsteps.

Turning my head slightly, I noticed the large shadow of a man across the pavement, cast by the blue neon light behind him.

Pau –

'Hey, hey! Why the gorgeously glum face?' Adam asked, as he plopped down next to me. Relieved, I turned back to face ahead.

'Gorgeous . . . ha,' I mumbled quietly.

Quiet haunted my mind. I turned my head, and noticed that Adam was giving me an are-you-insane? look.

He's one to talk, the madman.

Poke.

'Sorry,' I sighed breathily, 'I'm not at my perkiest.'

'Noticed,' he commented. 'Why not, Sour-Susie?' He sucked in his cheeks, lemon-style.

I made that horse-noise that sometimes people do when they're frustrated. You know? Brrrrrrr . . . 'Nothin',' I shrugged. 'Go back inside and tell Cee I'm fine. I know she sent you out here.' I shot him a small smile, and then traced my index finger along the bitumen of the road, with the shards of broken glass dropped from previous drunken party-goers, no doubt.

As No Doubt as Gwen Stefani.

'You bet she did. Right after she gave Paul the verbal beating of his life,' Adam beamed. I stared at him, and then grinned a little too brightly. 'Really?'

'Oh sure. CeeCee's a fiery thing,' he told me gustily. 'And at the most . . . appropriate times too,' he added with the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

'What did she say to him?'

'Well, just that he wasn't to do that anymore. You know . . . taunt you and everything. She knew exactly what he was doing. Doesn't miss a trick, Cee. Should have been a detective.' I caught him smiling rather longingly, which heightened my mood that little bit. 'So, Suze. Come back inside.'

'Never,' I said in a whispered cry if defiance, still feeling quite exhausted, for no good reason.

'But her majesty told me not to come back until you brought your royal ass back in. And if you don't come in, I'll have to drag you. Sorry, Queens orders,' he informed me officially.

'You couldn't take me, Adam. Go tell Eve that my ass gained 300 pounds, and you couldn't fit me through the door or something.'

He considered it for a minute. 'It might _work_,' he winced his forehead in mock-intense thought, 'But . . . oh, Suzie dearest, I don't think she'd go for it.' He then flexed his muscles, slightly reminiscent to how Paul had done the other day, but with a lot less arrogance. Well, not REAL arrogance. 'And besides, m'lady. You obviously have not been fortunate enough to see these babies in action. Go on, poke it. It's rock.'

I gave him a lazy smile, and prodded his upper arm.

'Hmm. Squishy,' I said.

He looked HIGHLY affronted. Well, in a jokey way. 'Ahem! Take that BACK. These guns are HUGE.'

'They're inflatable,' I humoured him. 'Times like this I wish I had a pin on me.'

With a look of alarm, he hissed, '_How did you know?!_'

Teehee. Aww, man, I love this guy.

'Please, don't tell the Queen. She'll behead me. Like Henry the VIII.'

'Whatever,' I snorted at him. 'She'd never find someone like you, Adam.'

It took him a moment that I'd taken his joke to a level of such sincerity, that he couldn't even reply.

I gave him a very warm smile, and rested my head on his shoulder. 'I'm glad you've opened your eyes, Adam. She's a very, _very_ lucky girl to have you. And you're a lucky guy.'

He pondered for a second. 'Yeah. Yeah, I am.' Another silence. I could feel that he was smiling. 'Aww, cut it out Simon,' he said suddenly, and gave an almighty, pathetic pseudo-sniff, 'You're making me tear up.'

'Bull,' I said. I doubt he'd ever cried. Not since he'd found CeeCee. I mean, _really_ found her.

Me? Well, I'm like your basic leaky tap. I so need to get a plumber sicced on me. Or a psychiatrist.

His hand came around my shoulders affectionately, with my head now shifting a little to his chest. And we just sat there.

Friends.

I suddenly remembered how good friendships could feel.

It felt _really_ nice.

'You're an okay kid yourself, Simon,' he murmured thoughtfully.

About thirty seconds past in complete, comfortable silence. With a sigh, I lifted my head up. 'We'd better go back inside.'

He just sat there, looking like he was thinking harder than I'd ever seen him think.

Because let's face it. Adam isn't exactly deep.

But this contemplation looked really deep.

'You're right,' he said, 'I _am_ a lucky guy. Really lucky . . . '

I should have guessed, there and then. I didn't.

But I suppose that my own feelings were clouding my ability to detect a guy's tone when he's thinking about the girl he loves. And his plans for said girl.

Whatever. He too, joined me on his feet, and grinned down at me. 'Shit,' he said. 'We didn't just have a moment, did we? I'm too manly and rugged for moments.'

'Sucker,' I said. 'Okay. Let's not keep Her Highness waiting. And in such terrible company, too.'

'Right you are. I shall escort you, fair lady Susannah. To the castle!' he cried in what he thought must have looked swashbuckling, throwing out his arm in a weird Buzz Lightyear impression.

The bouncer, who was staring at us with raised eyebrows, numbly muttered into his walkie talkie for his boss to check if the beer had been spiked.

'Castle. With the . . . flashing lights. And the booze. Dude, I'm liking this castle,' I giggled girlishly.

'Yes, one fantastic medieval orgy,' he beamed.

Okay . . . a little too far there.

'Um . . . sorry,' he mumbled in apology.

I slipped my arm into his, smiling.

God. What a magnificent freak.

Maybe I could buy an Adam McTavish remake on eBay.

As we again, entered the world of dancing, judgment, alcohol, pick-ups, and a possibility of fun, CeeCee stormed over to us. In a slightly intoxicated bliss, though. 'What kept you?' she demanded in an effort to look irritated, as opposed to drunk.

'We had a moment,' I informed her in an exaggerated whisper. 'Careful, he's a bit sensitive about it.'

'Loser,' she smirked at Adam.

'Lady Susannah has been delivered, my beautiful cherry pop tart. NOW can we bust some moves?'

'Duh,' she sang. 'Come on.'

And we were all back on the dance floor, boogying to some gay Michael Jackson song that seemed determined to get popular again. Personally, I still think that he's a little-boy toucher. But that's just me.

Adam's rendition of the moonwalk was very, VERY scary. And the little cupping-his-hand-over-his-guy-bits-and-doing-a-pelvic-thrust-with-one-hand-behind-his-head-thing, too.

If I needed therapy before, I DEFINITELY needed it now.

I wasn't getting over that in a hurry. Me and CeeCee just laughed helplessly at him. It was so freakishly funny.

'He's trashed,' I shook my head solemnly.

CeeCee laughed. 'Tell me about it.'

Adam demanded, 'Are you two going to dance with me, or spend all night lusting after my desirable physique?'

Snort.

'We'd better detox you with some dignified moves, Fabio,' I mocked, 'Come on Cee. Lets show him how it's done.'

CeeCee grabbed my hand, and we proceeded to do so.

I laughed happily as CeeCee twirled under my arm. We twisted up on tip-toes, then squatted down slowly, and came back up, doing a weird little hip thing, and then just bopping a long. It was actually pretty cool. Adam was pissing himself laughing. Jealously, I'm certain of it.

I was actually a good dancer. Good moves, and stuff.

Michael Jackson's Gay Song ended. Me and Cee high-fived each other, and giggled hysterically.

I couldn't understand it . . . why was this so fun?

I mean, it was something DANIELLE MOORE organized for us. I wasn't ALLOWED to have fun. And not to mention, I was Suze Simon. I didn't have fun, period.

. . . Then I realized.

CeeCee and Adam. This friendship. One that I'd postponed for five years.

I didn't feel alone. And it was great.

Love was one thing.

But friends lasted a lifetime.

I had to _stop_ prizing relationships higher than friendship.

It was hard, though.

Love just seemed like something I _needed_.

. . . Well, maybe it wasn't. Maybe I just needed platonic love, at the moment, to be happy.

Maybe.

Still giggling, we turned to look at Adam. He looked kind of . . . um, aroused, actually. Staring at CeeCee and all. 'Impressive,' he clapped. 'A little girl-on-girl action there . . . '

CeeCee shoved him cheerfully. 'Eww, Adam. Keep it in your jocks, okay?'

'They say that men are very turned on by girls acting like lesbians, is this true? If so, I have lost all respect for the male half of our sad, sad human race,' I scowled.

'Suze,' he said bluntly, 'We're men. We're turned on by anything. Doorknobs. Victoria's Secret catalogues, you name it.'

'Kelly Prescott?' I demanded.

He gagged. 'Okay, not _everything_.'

Hushed, I asked, 'Dani?'

It took him a moment to reply with a very indignant, 'NO.'

. . . Aww, man.

'Adam!' CeeCee elbowed him, as the next song got into swing, 'You're KIDDING me.' In fact, she looked actually kind of alarmed. Threatened.

I knew how she felt, to a tee.

I felt a little bad for putting up on the spot. 'It's okay, we know she's pretty.'

And grossly busted.

Adam groaned. 'I'm in the dog house, aren't I, Cee?'

'You bet on it,' she penalized. '_No_ sexual favours tonight. _None_.'

. . . Okay, eww.

I sighed discretely. It was only natural for Adam to be all over Dani. Well, as much as a taken man could be.

Hmph. He was banned from the ADMA for _life_!

Dani was prettier than me. Dani was better than me. Dani was everything compared to me.

You win some, you lose some, right?

. . . I just continued to lose.

'Well . . . she _is_ a bit of a bitch,' he tried redeeming himself.

'Good thing you're in the doghouse then,' CeeCee said, with a dash of unpleasantness. 'Puppy love all round.'

'Well, she cannot measure up to the natural beauty of you stunners,' he grinned goofily.

'Yeah, there are a couple of things that certainly AREN'T natural,' CeeCee added.

'I need more alcohol,' I informed them. 'You're getting weird, Adam.'

CeeCee, however, accompanied me loyally. Yay. We could get smashed together.

However, as I had just ordered ANOTHER light beer, along with CeeCee, who ordered something with a gross name that made me cough up my saliva, something like Monkey's Testicles, Paul and Dani stumbled over, laughing and looking superior and haughty and evil and demonic and kinky and anorexic (Dani) and windswept and too perfect and too rich and too condescending for my own good. Paul promptly ordered some pricey margaritas. Dani still looked like a slutty pop stick with marshmallows taped to it.

'Hey, Cee, Suze,' he nodded, still looking smug. Cee gave him a very small warning look, almost as if to say, _Be nice, chump._ 'Just cooling off . . . been dancing, and all.'

'Noticed,' I replied with a long sip of my beverage, 'Some guy over there was wondering, Dani, how much do you charge by the hour? And if you were available tonight. It's his birthday, you see,' I nodded at her.

'Ouch,' CeeCee mouthed at me, choking on her Monkey's Testicles.

(A/N: HAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

. . . Sorry. I got a very bad visual Of Adam in a gorilla suit with – actually, you don't want to know.)

Dani's jawbone tightened. Paul went very stiff, too. They both looked stony.

OR STONED. MUAHAHA.

Okay . . . not so much, maybe.

'As opposed to you dancing,' Dani sniffed. 'I'm surprised you didn't knock people over with the aftershocks of your flab.'

HEY.

BITCH!

I refused to show my hurt. 'Did you lose a bet or something?' I asked Paul. 'I mean . . . you didn't pick her up _willingly_, right?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Excuse us, CeeCee. Dani and myself are going somewhere more . . . private.'

Oh, please.

'Oh, Paul, you animal!' Dani cackled, as turned to he steer her away to the door that obviously lead upstairs.

ENJOY YOUR QUICKIE.

'What's your mating call, Dani? "I'm so drunk"?' I snapped.

Dani faltered on a retort, and just glared.

'Come on, Dani, let's leave her to wallow in her depression,' Paul shrugged in disdain. 'Suze, I'd suggest Zoloft.'

My evil grin was wiped swiftly on my face, and I turned away, feeling pale. Insultathon was over.

Paul, seemingly satisfied, left for the wonders of upstairs with Danielle Moore, his supermodel.

CeeCee, I noticed after a moment, was gawking on me. 'What?' I asked quietly.

'What was THAT about?' she demanded.

A little fire flared back up. 'Oh, nothing. I'm the resident bitch, she's on my turf,' I said simply. 'It helps that I'm the only one with brain cells.'

'Okay,' she said slowly. 'But _Paul_. Zoloft? Depression? That was _cold_, Suze.'

I gave her a grim smile, finishing my beer. It tasted more like urine, now. 'Paul _is_ cold.'

Generally a side-effect of hating me.

Or a symptom.

CeeCee stared at my sympathetically. 'Sorry for saying you liked him, before. I didn't realize things were that bad,' she apologized, clearly embarrassed and regretful.

With a hollow laugh, I replied, 'Don't worry about it.'

Oh my God . . . I needed to pee.

The bartender guy was hovering about two feet (IN THE AIR!) away. No, he could not fly. Loser.

'Hey,' I said. He ignored me. '_Hey_,' I said again. Looking annoyed, he asked, 'Yes?'

'Where's the ladies'?

He pointed to the door that led upstairs.

'Oh,' I said. 'Isn't there like, one down here?'

'Staff toilet. You're not allowed in there,' he sniffed, wiping a beer jug with a damp looking towel.

'Please?' I asked politely. 'I mean, I have a bladder problem and everything, and I don't know if I can hold it – '

'No,' he glared.

'Fine,' I snapped. 'Your beer was SALTY.'

And I left CeeCee there, and stalked upstairs. Hopefully I wouldn't catch Paul screwing Dani against away, or something. The little neon light proclaiming "TOILET" with a small woman symbol – you know, the cross with the circle on the top – told me I'd triumphantly reached my destination. I ducked into the girls', did my stuff, and was out of there pretty quickly.

That was when I noticed Paul AND Dani stepping out of the men's.

. . . _Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww_

Okay, I was just KIDDING about that quickie thing. I didn't think they'd actually – you know . . . _DO_ IT.

. . . LITERALLY!

Dani's hair was slightly messed up. Paul was fixing his belt buckle, breathing that little harder than usual.

Oh, God. I just lost my innocence. This world is so CRUEL.

'Well, I hope you enjoyed that very lovely game of Monopoly,' I nodded. 'Very, _quick_.'

. . . ie.

Oh God, oh God. I'm so scarred for life . . .

The buckle thing was TOO MUCH.

Dani was about to bite back when this black guy came up the stairs. For an insane second, I thought it was Charles. You know. The ghost. The African American Misfortunate. But it wasn't. This guy, for one, was older. And thinner. And his shoulders weren't as broad. And he didn't look dangerous, so much as snooty.

'Dan!' he sang out, in a voice that instantly delivered the information that he was very British, and _very_ gay.

I mean, the hot pink silken shirt and leather pants were a pretty good indicator, too.

Paul blinked in slight alarm.

'Miles! Darling, I didn't think you were coming tonight!' she tittered, and gave him a hug when he ran over to her.

Paul still stared.

'Oh, Paulie! This was my friend. The one who frequents this dear club! We did a big Gucci thing back a while ago,' she said with such gusto, I felt vomit coming up.

'I now do underwear,' Miles rolled his eyes, and did this poofy little hand thing. Oh my God, I didn't realize that gays actually DID that.

Paul shook his hand warily. 'Paul Slater,' he said. Miles gave him a lookover, and nodded in approval to "Dan". 'You picked up a sexy one, Dan,' he grinned. 'Nice.'

Paul took his hand back very quickly, and Dani laughed, 'Oh, you!'

I just stood there.

"Miles" – what a gay name – turned and looked at me curiously. 'And who's this little cutie?' he asked.

'Susannah Si –' I began, but was beaten by the cackle of Dani's witchy, 'Who cares?'

My polite smile faded.

He turned away from me, having learnt that I was not upper class. 'Danielle, want to go dance downstairs?' he asked. Paul didn't seem to sense so much of a threat, having realized that the guy was indeed, very homosexual. Dani flew over to him, and they both went down the stairs looking like two slutty peas in a pod.

Paul and I kind of stared.

'Whoa,' I said in awe. 'You got dumped for a gay underwear model. That's gotta be _tough_.'

Oh, yeah. Dude with a 'tude. That's me.

(A/N: _Lolly: _I loooooove szechwan. Yum.)

I was still furious about that Zoloft crack. Suggesting that I should go binge on anti-depressants was actually really cruel. Like I said. Abusing his knowledge that I was a girl who got hit by her ex. Abusing it BADLY.

Paul gave me a bored looking glare. I actually occurred to me that he might not have been all that sober, at that moment. Oh well. I was still thoroughly grossed. I mean, come ON. The _BUCKLE_, people!

A darkly amused smile made his lips curl at the corners. It was crooked. 'What brings you up here, Suze?' he asked in a quiet, and almost seductive voice. It kind of . . . I dunno.

Purred.

Like a cat.

No.

Jungle cat.

A very large predator.

_Don't stay up here, Suze. Go back downstairs. GO._

'Toilet, much?' I raised my eyebrows at him in annoyance, clamping my hands bitchily on my hips. I went to go back downstairs, listening to the perfectly sane voice in my head, but he subtly moved into the doorway to block me, still smiling.

Bloodlust.

'What are you doing?' I asked him coldly, in a kind of strained voice.

He tossed his head superciliously, like I'd seen Nathaniel do. You know, another of the Misforts.

'Well, actually, I was trying to ask you to dance,' his eyes refused to leave my own. He was penetrating my mind with skewers of ice.

I swallowed. Hard.

P–Paul wanted to dance.

Um . . . oh, God.

Ignorant of the dark flush that suddenly conquered my cheeks, I snapped, 'You insulted me down there. You still have the _nerve?_'

A very small step.

Very small.

It was enough to make my heart go KAH-THUNK in its beating pattern, like it was a heavy piece of machinery had just got a cog jammed in it, but had crunched it, so it had continued to function.

But rustily.

'Sure,' he said, smiling down at me like he had a very dark secret, and that only dancing with him would make him tempted to reveal it to me. His hand came to my arm, making my nervous system momentarily implode in paralyzing shivers that raced up my arm, across my shoulder, and into my chest.

_Far_ out.

I wasn't as good a dancer as the Disco Bitch. God knew that's who Paul would compare me to. I mumbled something inarticulate, but Paul overrode my attempted speech.

'So, you wanna dance, or not?' he asked again, a little louder this time. He wasn't smiling so much anymore.

His voice echoed in my head . . .

'Or we can, you know, stand here and discuss who's dissing who.'

That was when the most EMBARRASSING SONG IN THE WORLD came on from downstairs. Believe me, we could still hear it. VERY clearly.

I was not dancing to this.

No, no.

I mean, it was a funny song. But . . . oh, shit.

_The Bad Touch._

Oh. My. God.

Paul looked HIGHLY amused, at that. My eyes must have widened to the size of tennis balls, and suddenly, I was VERY FREAKED.

This was NOT A GOOD SONG TO DANCE TO WITH PAUL. NO, NO, NO. IT WAS A VERY BAD SONG TO DANCE TO WITH PAUL. IT MENTIONED NUTS. AND PANTS. AND THE WORD HORNY. AND A LOT OF VERY GROSS INNUENDO. WHEN I FIRST HEARD IT WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, MUM TURNED IT THE RADIO OFF VERY QUICKLY AFTER THE LINE, "So put your hands down my pants and I'll bet you'll feel nuts."

AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! SEE?!

'You like this song,' Paul stated. He didn't ask me. He told me that I liked it.

I was freaking. I really was. I couldn't dance to – not THIS song – _FUCK_. 'I – um, it's – '

'Shame not to dance to a song that you like,' Paul grinned down at me, now slyly backing me into the middle of the empty room. It wasn't lit well. Just the neon green lights that indicated the toilets.

I wanted to leave. I really did. But I was so freaked out, that I could barely move. I felt like hot malleable plastic. Poke me, and I'd dent.

Paul, taking every advantage of that, slid his hands up to my hips, and pulled me a little closer to him. I was short of breath. I really was. This guy had just called me depressive. And now he wanted to dance with me, to a song that SCREAMED kinkiness.

NOT GOOD, GIRLIES.

He started swaying his lower body to the thumping beat of the music.

And I realized.

Paul was a VERY good dancer.

I too, started dancing, not very confidently. I was freaked. I would forever BE freaked.

Probably something to do with the fact that I AM one. A freak, I mean.

When the lyrics started, I blanched. A lot.

_Ha-Ha! Well now we call this the act of mating.  
But there are several other very important differences ,  
Between human beings and animals that you should know about._

OH MY GOD.

I think that Paul noticed me squirming. And he was relishing it. This couldn't have been worse. I could smell alcohol on his breath, alarmingly evocative to Cole on his worst days.

I tried not to focus on the lyrics, or the fact that Paul's hands were practically on my butt. I tried to focus on . . . I dunno. But whatever it was, it wasn't working.

Wasn't working in a BIG way.

Accidentally, I looked up at Paul's eyes. And there was something there that scared me. It was animalistic. For a fleeting moment, it reminded me of something I'd seen in his eyes a long time ago. But then the look was gone. I wasn't sure if it had been there. How he was staring down at me, though, was scary enough.

His eyes always seemed to hold me prisoner in a very dark, cold place. Dark memorization. So much was happening. Suggestive music pumping fast, beer, dim lights, proximity to a man I loathed . . . it swam around in my head like water across an electric panel board, electrocuting everything.

And now, kindly add haunting, icy eyes to that mix, and you get a recipe for destruction.

. . . That's when I stopped being scared, and started competing.

Another competition. I had to win _something_.

And I began to increase in confidence. My movements were more intentional, and stronger. I played to him more. I saw him smirk in – what, approval? Something . . . else? I was proving that I WASN'T as pathetic as I seemed. I COULD beat him. I COULD dance.

Mr heart pounded dreadfully.

I glared back at him, misreading his look. Totally. But then, I didn't notice. I thought he was just trying to win. Right? That's what he always tried to do. Why would he be smirking down at me like that if he didn't like the competition?

I _totally_ disregarded the possibility that he might have been turned on.

_Do it now.  
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals,  
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel._

Did I mention how EMBARRASSING that song was?

But it would NOT make me lose.

I circled my hips definitely. So definitely that I looked a little TOO comfortable dancing with him. But you know what? It was for the sake of WINNING. So I didn't care.

'You know what you're doing,' he said down to me breathily, another flash of something in his eyes.

I foolishly took that as a compliment. Foolish, because, of what he was going to say very soon.

He pulled me just a little bit closer, his smirk getting wider. Then he chuckled very softly. I could feel it through his body, we were that close.

_So if I capsize on your thighs high tide B-5 you sunk my battleship,   
Please turn me on I'm Mister Coffee with an automatic drip._

. . . That close.

He was practically rubbing up against me. In a dancing way, but still, I felt VERY uncomfortable. An awkwardness that I defiantly concealed. However, the acidic chemical reactions in my body were devastating.

That was when he sharply spun me around, and pulled me back against him, so I was now not facing him. He held my stomach very forcefully, and it was all I could do to not release the sharp gasp that was cutting the skin of my throat. My hands moved back to his hips, which were right behind my own, and I turned my head to the side, so my neck was exposed. My powerful movements were only matched by his. But . . . this wasn't dancing.

This was something a lot bigger than dancing.

I just didn't know _what_.

Now struggling for breath, I turned back to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and taking more of a lead, stealing back my victory. His smirk was getting more and more sinister. Like he'd won something of his own.

_Do it now.  
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals,  
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel .  
Do it again now.   
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals,  
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel._

I'm going to seek out Bloodhound Gang, and I'm going to feet them all to piranhas.

SLOWLY.

The exotic beat came to a climax in the song, and Paul was dancing faster. His strong, dominant hands arched my back into him. My heart was fit to burst from the pumping, hot blood flowing painfully through my body. For someone who had an effect of immobilizing ice, he was NOT supposed to be making me feel hot.

Oh, GOD.

And then the song was over.

Just like that.

Paul, however, held me very close to him for just a second longer. In fact, he actually pulled me _closer_ when the last beat ended. I stared up him, a look of involuntary fear suddenly clouding my eyes. I wasn't dancing. I wasn't competing.

I was back to being pathetic, and most recently, FRIGHTENED of how me was making me feel, with his body against mine like that. His arms were VERY hard beneath his tee. I knew. My hands had slipped down from his neck, and were resting on them. He was breathing hard, like me. But something had changed. He wasn't smirking anymore. His eyes were unreadable. Like Jesse's had a tendency to be. But Paul's eyes were . . . I dunno.

No, I won't even contemplate that.

Ugh.

Well . . . he looked poised to . . .

SUZE. DON'T BE A LOSER.

. . . Kiss me.

But he didn't. The moment I started getting VERY red again, he released me slowly, and the smirk returned. Now, it wasn't a highly amused smirk. It was angry. Like he was angry at me. I could tell. His lips were quirked, but his eyes GLARED. I didn't know why. I didn't know what I'd done to make him angry. Maybe because I hadn't like, told him the song was over, and he'd had to hold onto me for a few seconds longer than necessary. Yeah. Maybe it was that.

Whatever it was, he looked really mad. But . . . he still smirked.

I went to say something, I didn't know what. Something that would stop him from being angry at me like that. I took a very nervous step back, my feet feeling like they were still moving after that continuous dancing. My back felt stiff. And my head was very painful, now that I remembered that I'D JUST DANCED WITH PAUL.

Not just dancing.

_Dirty_ dancing.

That was when Ben decided now to take a dump. He climbed up the stairs, and saw me there. 'Hi, _Suzie_,' he said bitterly.

'Oh,' Paul gave me a furious, sarcastic look. 'One of your many men, Suze?'

I gave him an outraged look. '_What_?'

He shrugged. 'You just seem to have worked your way around the guys in this club.'

I HAD NOT. BEN WAS THE ONLY GUY I DANCED WITH, BESIDES PAUL.

His smirk deepened, and Ben just stared.

'You're – ha, as if – No, I just danced with – WORK AROUND?' I gasped, appalled.

My body was cooling down a lot. So much so that it was turning cold. Cold as stone, in fact, because I felt my joints adapting lead-like qualities on the spot.

Paul took a step back. 'So sorry,' he nodded rudely to Ben, 'I'll leave you to screw her senseless, shall I?'

Oh my God.

That was when Dani and "Miles" also came back up the stairs, laughing. 'Deary me,' she tutted, 'What's going on here?'

Paul just glared at me.

I didn't UNDERSTAND. What did I DO?

Ben took a hesitant step toward me, and I backed away instinctively, with wide eyes.

'I was just leaving her with her newest lover, Dani,' Paul snapped.

MY GOD. HE WAS POSTAL.

That was when, to my utmost horror, he marched right in front of me, freezing me with a gaze, moving his face so it was right beside my ear, and hissing something so hurtful, something that he meant SO much, that instantly, a very, very sick feeling developed in my stomach. My mouth fell open, and I looked away, and I got really dizzy, and my hands started shaking a little, and I jerked right away from him, and he was smiling in victory, and resentment, and dark amusement, and I was stumbling away from everyone there, and Dani cackled, 'Mind the cockroaches,' and I didn't care if there WERE cockroaches, and I somehow made it down those stairs, and I mumbled an apology to Cee, saying I needed her car to get back to the school, and she called and asked me what was wrong.

What was wrong . . .

I told her nothing. Adam grabbed my shoulders as I tried pushing past him, and I shoved him away, and he looked shocked, but I made it out that DAMNED CLUB, and to CeeCee's car, where I SHOVED the keys into the ignition, and drove back to Fortunaschwein.

I felt numb. Angry. Like I was delaying something.

I didn't know how, but I ended back up in that school. The darkness was engulfing.

Darkness . . .

And I was running. Down the first hallway, to the right. Blindly. I didn't know where. I was running. And then I was falling. And running again.

Then I was in a room, in the corner, having slammed myself against the wall so hard that I'd fallen to my knees, and I was crying.

_Hard_.

Crying out anguished pain.

Pain, unbearable, that had been trapped for a LONG time.

Pain, excruciating, that had just been triggered, all over again.

By Paul.

Someone who wasn't even worth tears, and yet . . . his words had provoked the tears of not only what he'd said, but tears that were destined for ALL of the wrongs in my life . . . the men, the mistakes, Cole, the sadness, all of it.

And my newly known status.

His words had sliced something _deep_ in my soul. The WORST thing he could have said to me.

"_You're a stupid whore, Suze. You're Jesse's whore."_

- 8 -

**Review.**


	18. Someone Who Loved Me

I felt so small.

So pathetic.

So low.

Seriously. Like I was some meaningless ant that had crawled across Paul's shoe, and he's flicked me off, and then he'd squashed me, twisting his foot into the pavement.

And he'd enjoyed doing so.

Everything was completely dark. And still. And silent. I was still in that room. I'd been in there for ten minutes. I'd stopped crying, by now. But I was in horrified thought.

Whore?

WHY had he called me that?

Of all things . . . that?

I mean, Dani was a different thing. She DRESSED like one. She acted like one.

I didn't.

. . . Right?

Oh, man.

With even more distress, I leant my head back against the hard plaster of the door, and screwed my eyes shut, hoping dreamily to wake up, away from here.

But when I opened my eyes, I was still in the darkness.

And I was still bruised from Paul's words.

Furiously, and utterly disgusted with myself, I ripped out all of the pins from my hair. No care whatsoever. Just ripped them out. And the pony-tail holder, too. So what if I screwed up my perfect hair? What did it MATTER?

My hair fell loose beside my face, tumbling across my shoulders. It felt painful, after having been up for so long. Like the roots were not used to their new position. Almost as much as I knew that I should never have come back here. I wasn't ready, and I wasn't used to feeling so much.

My shoulders were hiked up. As if I was protecting myself. Which I was trying to do. From the world. The very cruel world, that Paul was making an even scarier place than Cole had, for me.

I was alone, in every sense of the word.

Well . . . when you're alone, at least no one can hurt you . . .

Only, it also meant that there was no one there for you. No one to hold you. No one to love you.

Is that _so_ much to ask for? Have someone hold me? Someone who _loved_ me?

. . . And I didn't mean how Paul had been gripping me against him back at the club. That had been immoral. And more sexual than any affection.

I doubted Paul COULD love anything truly, apart from himself. Dani . . . pfft. He probably was using her, too. Almost as much as she was using him.

_Jesse's whore_.

As my eyes dampened again, I became furious with myself. _GOD! Don't be STUPID, Suze! Stop crying, you loser! He's . . . he's a dick. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Why do you CARE what he thinks!_

What if I WAS that?

Did I act like that? Dress like that? TALK like that?

I stared ahead into the unmoving shadows, in manifest horror. My lips were shaking in hurt and anger.

What he'd said had brought back EVERYTHING.

Down to how I was treated by the first guy from Massachusetts who asked me out.

Wow. Big mistake there.

I'd been out with a lot of guys, trying to find The One. Someone who would help me get over Jesse. Selfish reason to be guy shopping, but I needed to keep looking.

So many guys . . .

God . . . I am what he says.

Another pair of tears spilled down my cheeks, and I hugged my knees to my chest, neglectful of the skirt. The water from my eyes saturated the fabric of the skirt, as a spot on each leg grew darkly right before my eyes, from the tear drops.

I hid my face, and just cried, getting smaller, and even more dead.

Wasting away to a mere ghost.

'Susannah?'

_Jesse_ was here.

His tone was curious, questioning, concerned.

I jerked my face up, and gave him such a hateful glare that his expression instantly changed from worried, to hurt. Ha. Jesse didn't _know_ hurt. My hair fell in front of my face in a feral manner, and my hands were still shaking to no end. I squeezed them in each other, hoping he would notice. With a very difficult swallow that digested something like the thorns that Jesus Christ wore at his crucifixion, I just glared. I hated him.

'Get lost,' I breathed at him with a powerful aversion.

I didn't want him here. God knows what PAUL had to say to THAT.

'I take it you did not enjoy . . . clubbing,' he said very cautiously, still standing above me.

Above me.

Always.

With a single look of revolted sarcasm, I let out an unladylike snort, but didn't answer.

'You're not . . . intoxicated are you, Susannah?' he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I laughed hollowly, looking back to my knees, hiding my tearstained face. 'Yeah, Jesse, I'm totally drunk. Now go away, before I drunkenly beat the crap out of you.'

'What happened, Susannah?' he asked sharply. 'Where are the others?'

'Still there, having _fun_,' I muttered bitterly.

At my EXPENSE.

'And why did you come home early – '

'This is NOT HOME,' I snapped at him, 'As far as I'm concerned, I don't HAVE a home.' Which was true, now. Carmel had been my home. But not without Jesse. Massachusetts had been hell. Never a home. And Fortunaschwein? Give me a BREAK.

'Home is what we make it – '

'LOOK,' I shouted, scrambling up and giving him a HARD poke in the chest, so much so that he winced, 'Just GO AWAY. God knows you're so freaking GOOD at it!'

Breathing hard, I glowered with popping eyes. I was SO angry. And I did NOT want him here. If he DIDN'T leave, I'd end up shouting to high heaven at him. And although it was appealing, I didn't know if I had the energy for an argument.

Jesse, however, seemed to be determined to find out.

If I had energy, I mean.

Which he proceeded to siphon from me.

He held up his hands in surrender, his spectral glow dimly illuminating his face. 'Susannah . . . I am very worried about you. Something's not right . . . I will not "Go away" or "shut up" until you tell me what it is.'

Pushing my buttons . . . prying into my life.

How _dare_ he?

I just gave him my coldest stare, desperate for a biting reply that would put him back in his place, where he belonged. OUT of my life, namely. I couldn't think of one. I spun around, facing the wall, crossing my shaking arms, and I bit my lower lip, my chest heaving with gulp of air.

My head was roaring. _JESSE'S WHORE._

'I'm warning you,' I said in a low, deadly voice, one through gritted teeth, 'Go . . . away . . . '

'Did you get into a quarrel with someone, Susannah?' he persisted lightly, 'Danielle? Or – ' he stopped, 'It was Slater, wasn't it?'

I remained painfully silent, my eyes tearing up again. I closed them, and inhaled an arsenic breath, that burnt my throat like leftovers that had been heated up for WAY too long. 'Just go away,' I pleaded.

'Susannah, please. You cannot just sit in this room and cry until everything gets better. It does not happen like that. I should know . . . I have been around for a long time,' he said from behind me.

I slowly turned back around. 'You don't cry,' I told him.

And more and more hate came flooding back, like a dam that could hold water no longer. 'You don't feel _anything_ anymore Jesse, you're not even ALIVE! Don't TELL ME you know how I _FEEL_!' I screamed at him, my voice soaring up several octaves, as another crushing rage almost broke me from within.

I hated him, hated him, HATED HIM.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fall. And run.

I always ran.

Jesse patiently waited for me to stop breathing so hard, before he said to me softly, 'I have been alive, Susannah. I remember sharing happy moments with my family and I remember when my sisters would cry about things. I have felt pain before. I've been thirsty, and hungry, and tired. Not to mention upset, lonely, and terrified. And those things do not just "go away" when you die, Susannah. My soul is the preservation of a man that was once alive. I still feel. I . . . I still cry,' he added in a low voice. 'To cry is to be human.'

Jesse crying seemed like a very pansy-ish thing to me, for some reason.

He was wrong.

To cry was to be vulnerable.

More white-hot bitterness darted at him like poisoned arrows.

And again, it dwindled, leaving momentarily weak and weary again. 'Please,' I said, as more tears threatened to reveal themselves, 'Please Jesse, I want to be alone – '

Of course I didn't. Being alone was something I feared above all things.

But with Jesse being who he was, I could not stand to have him there.

Not then.

'Damn it, Susannah! What did he do to you?' Jesse asked brusquely. I flinched, and moved back a little more. He knew good and well that I was now crying.

'Go – '

'No,' he replied firmly. 'I happen to like staying. And I would appreciate that you'd tell me what is wrong. For, if you do not, I shall not be "going away" any time soon.'

I cried harder, my shoulders shaking from the deadly sobs that were coughing in my chest. I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head in stubborn denial.

Why hadn't he said this FIVE YEARS AGO?

He, again, waited, assuming that he'd broken me down enough for me to tell him.

Was he ever wrong.

Biting down the pain, and the pathetic blubbering, I managed to once again shoot him looks of something truly hateful. I fed the pain to the fire of my anger. 'Jesse? I told you to GO. I have a right to PRIVACY. If I want you to LEAVE, then you'll LEAVE.'

There was sadness in his eyes. So much so that I had to look away.

Which wasn't FAIR. _He'd_ hurt _me._ And yet . . . I had no right to think of him like that. I was the one that technically left. If he hadn't loved me enough to come with me, that wasn't his fault. It wasn't. Everything was my fault. I had been stupid, and YOUNG, and _CLINGY_.

And now, I couldn't meet his gaze, I was so ashamed.

The floor was dark. That was where I was staring. A place where I just wanted to curl up, die, decompose, and be forgotten.

If it meant that I'd stop _feeling_ like this . . .

His voice was like a blanket. Soft, warm, sheltering. 'Susannah . . . things have happened in the past, and they just do not leave. I would like, in my very limited ability, to banish them. But I cannot when I'm the one being banished . . . '

I still couldn't look at him.

I wanted to stay angry. I didn't want to seem weak. I wanted to stay strong, and furious and hateful.

And at the same time, I wished that I'd never met him.

I was now shaking so badly. I was not ready for a confrontation with Jesse de Silva. Not ready. Not after what I'd been called.

But Jesse took a few small steps so he was standing right over me. I stood frozen, breathing, staring past him, horribly aware that he was now almost as close to me as Paul had been. My skin felt like it was decaying away. And I was shivering enough to give one the impression that I was trapped in some bitterly cold blizzard.

And then I felt Jesse's gentle, caressing finger come to my chin, as he gently tipped my face up. With wide, and very wet eyes, I looked at his.

He analyzed my eyes. Trying to piece things together. Trying to steal away the truth from me, through my green eyes.

I was vulnerable. And weak. And scared. And he knew it.

Shakily, I took a hurried step back, so I was against the wall. 'Don't – don't DO that!' I hissed at him, my eyes having gone from wide, to narrowed.

Jesse's forehead creased in torture. 'Susannah –'

'No! No, Jesse, you CAN'T just come back and expect me to let you WALK ALL OVER ME AGAIN. You have no IDEA who I AM now!' I shoved him back, HARD, in the chest, so he stumbled a good three meters. 'You didn't want to know. FINE. You're not GONNA. Jesse, I don't WANT you in my life! So just go AWAAAAY!'

Panting. Crying. _Feeling_.

'Susannah, you mean none of this. I'm trying to help you – '

'Sure,' I laughed irately, 'Like you helped me FIVE YEARS AGO? Wow. _Great_ HELP THAT WAS!'

My eyes were fiery. I wanted him gone. I wanted him _exorcised_.

With a look of deepest regret now, Jesse closed his eyes. His height collapsed very slightly. 'Susannah . . . I could never have come with you. I couldn't have let you waste life on a ghost. Someone – some_thing_ who wasn't even there. I knew you'd be perfectly happy on your own. More than happy.'

Oh my God.

'ARE YOU ON SPECTRAL CRACK?' I freaked at him. 'You really DON'T have a clue! HAPPY? DO I LOOK HAPPY TO YOU, JESSE!'

Furious, shaking, crying, fuming – not a good mix.

His look turned stony. 'I have a clue, Susannah. You had a lovely evening with Slater five years ago, at "The Point" as you call it. Very lovely. You had him, Susannah. Why was I needed, when you had him?'

My mouth fell open, and I just shook my head at him, unable to speak.

_Paul_! He thought I had _Paul_!

. . . Oh my GOD.

'You did not need me, _querida_,' Jesse shrugged.

No. No, he did NOT just call me that.

JESSE DID _NOT_ JUST CALL ME _QUERIDA_.

He must have realized that he'd said it, and looked quite startled with himself.

_Querida_ . . . it meant "mistress" as much as it meant "sweetheart."

Jesse's mistress. Whore.

He didn't get it . . . oh GOD, he didn't get it –

No longer breathing, I growled, in a tone of quiet rage, 'Get out.'

'S –'

'GET OUT, GET OUT, GET _OUT!_' I screamed, screwing up my eyes, balling up my fists, and shrieking as much as my lungs possibly could. Screaming out the pain. A pure, intense pain that was born of Jesse's grave mistake.

When I dared to open my eyes again, I saw that I was on my own.

Jesse had dematerialized.

I felt myself falling to the ground. I knew that. My knees ceased to function, almost like my lungs. And then, there was a volcanic eruption of pain. Dormant for so long, but due to the movement under the surface, it can explode and cause devastation like no other.

And I was crying like I had never cried before. It was all out there. It was raw, and ugly, and heartbroken, and agonizing, and I ached, and I cried, and my head was screaming and my heart was bleeding and I was dying and Jesse thought I'd loved Paul over him, and his mistake had been so WRONG –

And next thing, I was desperately pulled into a forcible embrace, crying uncontrollably into Jesse's chest.

He'd come back for me . . .

No words.

His arms held me against him like he never wanted to let go. I cried.

His chin rested on my head, and he hugged me closed into him. I cried.

He was kissing my forehead, many times. Short, heartfelt kisses. I cried.

His fingers meshed ardently in my hair. And God, I cried.

I leaned harder into his chest. We were sprawled against the wall, on the ground. He tangled his leg in mine, and he too, was shaking. Seemingly, in urgency. He muttered things in Spanish, over and over and over again. I just moaned.

Powerful arms were protecting me from the pain that sought to destroy me. He kept me safe. He wouldn't let harm come to me. His chest was heaving, too. He dragged me even closer, and refused to surrender me to my pain. I cried.

I could scarcely breathe. Jesse didn't need to. His cheek smoothed against my forehead, which again, he kissed. I cried even _harder_.

It's the warmest feeling, to be held by someone who loved me.

And I still cried.

And after forever, I fell asleep.

In Jesse's arms.

- 8 -

I woke up in my own bed. Well, not my OWN bed. I mean, it wasn't my bedroom from Carmel, or anything. No, you know, the one on the fourth floor of the school?

I woke up in that bed.

Alone.

Well, sort of. Jesse was sitting at the window – there was no window seat in Fortunascweinian dormitories – with his head bowed in contemplation. Fuzzily, I sat up, and looked at my watch. It was ten past eight. And I felt horrible.

You know . . . drained.

My eyes felt really dry. Like my tear glands were crusty.

I sat up tiredly, and saw that Jesse hadn't moved a muscle. He was gazing eloquently out the window. The sun was behind the school, so there wasn't any light shining directly over him. He looked uneasy. Just, you know, standing there . . . gazing outside.

There was no ocean for him to look over now.

Or a punk of a sixteen year old, come to that. Just a pathetic twenty-three year old woman with no life to speak of.

The covers were warm over me. I shuffled a little more, and Jesse finally noticed that I was no longer slumbering. When he saw that I was awake, he gave me this very small, very honest smile.

'Susannah . . . ' he said lightly.

I rubbed my eyes, and yawned. 'How did we get up here? I thought we were on the first fl – ' I broke off in complete embarrassment. Suddenly, a hot flush came to my head, as I realized that I'd cried myself to sleep while Jesse was hugging me.

Oh my God.

That was SO EMBARRASSING.

Jesse must have noticed my wide eyes, because he chuckled very softly. In a nice way. Not a cruel way, like Paul would have done. 'I carried you up here, _querida_,' he nodded gracefully.

There he went again. _Querida_.

I didn't have the heart to ask him not to call me that. I mean, come on, he'd been so nice and all. Especially when I'd been such a freak, and all. With the oh-my-god-I'm-such-a-tortured-little-lamb-oh-hold-me-before-I-die thing.

And Jesse carried me up four floors.

'But I'm heavy,' I said bluntly.

'You are very small,' he said. 'You are not heavy in the least, Susannah.'

Yeah, I'm small.

Gawd. How annoying.

I actually wanted to flop right back on the warm, soft pillows, roll over, and sleep for another four hours. I didn't have a hang over, so much as a really bad headache. That, probably, had been from crying.

Jesse was staring at me strangely. Well, not so much strangely as differently. I was actually getting very freaked out by it, so I was like, 'I'd better go grab sustenance.'

A fleeting look of something weird came across his face. He actually made a forward movement, but then thought better of it. 'Yes,' he said. 'Go . . . '

So I did.

Well, you know, after I slipped into these black slacks and a dark green sweater. I didn't know why, but I felt cold.

. . . Oh, all right, I was trying to wear my UN-SLUTTIEST clothes that I owned. I mean . . . I did not want to give Paul reason to believe that he'd been right about me. My being a whore, I mean.

A word that hurt so _very much_.

As I was moving downstairs, something occurred to me.

. . . Things between me and Jesse were going to be _very_ different.

And Paul?

They were going to be a LOT worse than what they'd been.

And I wasn't looking forward to it.

- 8 -

I didn't want to face him.

Paul, I mean.

Like, I didn't know how I could, after what he'd said.

So I went downstairs, hoping that, you know, he hadn't woken up yet.

I found it strange that, from the first floor, when you went down the hall, it lead first to the kitchen and _then_ to the Dining Hall. You know. Like, if Fortunaschwein had had any big wiggie guests, they would have had to trump through the kitchen to get there. Very tacky. And the boys? Nicking food on their way? Didn't seem all that logical.

That's when I saw like, a large detour that probably took everyone straight to the Dining Hall. I took that, this time. Maaaaan, there were some heavy duty cobwebs. I gave ireful glares. Keeping my eyes peeled for spiders, I finally got into the big Dining Hall. It was, you know, all Oliver Twist-y. Especially knowing that a bunch of boys used to eat here. I could so imagine Bart, (the Misfort, not the Simpson) going up to some fat, oppressive teacher with their gruel, going, "Pleeeeease sir, can I have some more?"

Ugh.

Stupid Charles Dickens book.

I could write a novel.

. . . I just don't wanna.

It was a long way across the hall. I mean that. When I got to the other side, I cautiously went into the kitchen, as not to scare anyone if they were in there.

'Suze! There you are!'

I froze, halfway through the doorway. CeeCee and Adam had been monkeying around the stove.

All of a sudden, I wasn't that hungry anymore. I mean, seeing them together didn't give me the warm fuzzies anymore. In fact, it was almost sickening.

Sickening because I knew I'd never have that ever again. Hell, I didn't even have that in the first place. I, impressionable, young, naïve, stupid . . . used.

'Uh . . . hi,' I greeted them awkwardly as they disentangled themselves. I felt so stupid just standing at the doorway . . . so much so that I wanted to just leave right then and there. Turn around and walk away, right out of the school.

Or, maybe I'll just like, settle for turning into a puddle of Susie-goo and seeping between the floorboards.

CeeCee stared at me all motherly with concern. 'You . . . you just left the club. We were worried about -'

'I'm fine,' I replied quickly, cutting CeeCee off. I felt bad for doing it – but hey – what's another thing on my aura of negativity and gloom?

Adam left CeeCee's side for a moment and stood in front of me, examining my face for a few drawn out moments with his head slanted in thought. I kind of looked away, not ready to be "examined" by anyone. I didn't want them to see . . . to see what Paul saw.

'Your eyes are puffy,' Adam concluded.

CeeCee's violet eyes shot him a very disapproving look and said, 'Adam, you aren't helping.'

He looked back at CeeCee and, very sternly, said, 'No, Cee. She looks like she's been crying –' he turned back to face me and asked, ' – have you, Suze?'

I turned around quickly, to avoid the suspicious eyes and asserted, 'No.'

The room grew suddenly silent. Like my reply had choked the noise, killed it, and dug it a deep grave next to my dignity. Adam, instead of continuing his cross-examination or whatever, just patted my shoulder and went back to CeeCee.

I glanced at the two over my shoulder somewhat guiltily and said, 'Um . . . breakfast smells great.'

'Thanks,' CeeCee grumbled, 'it's the best we can do. You know, with a hangover.'

'Speak for yourself! I was the designated driver, remember?' Adam scoffed, taking pride in his accomplishment.

I snorted in disbelief. Adam? Sober? That's probably the best joke he's ever told me. 'You aren't serious,' I said, chuckling despite myself.

'He is,' CeeCee attested. 'He somehow managed to stay completely sober the entire night. One part of me is proud, but the other part –'

'Is wishing you didn't have to spend the whole night puking in the toilet?' Adam suggested.

CeeCee lifted her elbow to give him a swift nudge, but she quickly put it back down again, grabbing her head and groaning.

'Were you THAT smashed, Cee?' I asked.

'Not as bad as Dani and Paul. Those two were hammered,' Adam answered for her, handing CeeCee a glass of water for her headache.

'Yeah,' CeeCee agreed after taking a long sip of water, glaring at him, 'and that's why Paul let you drive his car. He wouldn't have otherwise.'

Adam smiled and threw me a wink. 'Give me a bottle of Vodka, and I bet he'd let me drive it again.'

I laughed uncomfortably. You see, any mention of Paul at the moment was toxic. 'Right,' I said. 'So, you . . . erm, sleep all right?'

Adam mock-frowned. 'Sleep?' Then he shot an evil grin at CeeCee, who turned red, and swiftly took another sip of water. 'Oh yeah . . . sleep.'

Oh, great. Adam and Cee had done it all night long.

That was a rather disconcerting thought.

Then again, ugh. It's not exactly as if I'd been alone, right?

I'd had Jesse with me all night, apparently. TOUCHING me all night.

Just not in the way that Paul would assume.

'Breakfast,' I asked, noticing the hopeful sizzle of something off a pan.

'Sausages,' CeeCee replied.

'You already got a sausage,' Adam said, sliding behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his cheek against hers. CeeCee just giggled.

. . . Eww.

Adam stopped. 'When I said that, I didn't mean that _you_ had a sausage. I mean, I hope not. Last time I checked, you were sausage-free – '

'Okay, Adam, really,' I said with a nauseous laugh, 'We are all glad that Cee does not have a penis. Can you please just keep cooking? Or making out, don't mind me. Just, don't drool on my breakfast, I'm not all that into saliva.'

Adam grinned at me. 'If you say so,' he obliged, spinning CeeCee around fast, who was still holding a spatula. And then he kissed her sweetly.

One, two, three: Aww.

Of course, in a moment of such romance and beauty, who should come in and ruin that picture but –

'Ugh . . . Cee, got any Tylenol?'

I looked up sharply, as I saw Paul enter the kitchen. So far, his back was towards me. He hadn't seen me yet. Good.

I glanced at myself, self-consciously checking that my outfit was, you know, un-whorish. And then I slipped into the Dining Hall, which was empty.

Susannah Simon in a Dining Hall would still qualify as it being empty.

That's when Paul came in HERE, too.

SHIT.

He, still with his back towards me, sat down, placed a glass of water on the table, two tablets, and he groaned, holding his head. Then, he popped both pills in his mouth, took a long swig of his H2O, and let out a refreshed, 'Aaah.'

Was there NO ESCAPING THIS GUY?

Because, seriously. After his accusation, I was perfectly content with never seeing him again. If he dropped off the face of the earth, I would not give a damn. I really wouldn't.

I stood there as silent and as rigid as I could. I thought maybe if I didn't make any noise, he wouldn't know I was there or something. Like I was going into super-secret-stealth-mode or something. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

He gave no indicator. He didn't acknowledge my presence or anything. He just sat on top of the table (not even bothering with a chair, how RUDE) and held his head, letting out a constrained groan.

I kind of frowned in momentary concern, but then caught myself. This was the cruel, heartless being that left me low all the time. He deserved no sympathy for getting so hopelessly smashed last night. None at all. Not even if his head feels like its going to explode.

Hmm, that'd be nice. A great fireworks display.

It wasn't MY fault the guy can't control his liquor intake. Sure having the bitchiest supermodel in all the kingdom as a girlfriend makes it easier to make oneself drunk beyond belief, but he should really get himself in line.

He wasn't as inebriated as CeeCee and Adam led on when he called me a certain unmentionable name. Yup. The way he said it was so clear, so intended . . .

Which led me to ask myself, when DID he decide to drink so much? And why? I thought he was so much smarter than that, to know that the next morning he'd wake up with a headache matchable to the ones we get after shifting. Not that I would know or anything, but by the way he looked I could totally see.

Eh. Maybe I just give him too much credit. He's not smart. He's a jackass. And he deserves every single jolt of pain he feels.

He took another long draw of water, still not saying a single word. He definitely knew I was there, though, because he threw me a quick wink, followed by a grimace of pain.

Hah. Justice has been served.

'Drink too much?' I teased bitterly.

Paul scowled and replied softly, 'Yeah. Just a little.'

Just a little? Yeah. Right.

He continued, 'I could barely make it out of bed this morning. Dani . . . she's a lost cause.'

'_I'll_ say,' I replied cantankerously. Paul didn't seem to appreciate my comment, but he kept his opinion and any physical contempt to himself in order to dodge the pain.

Silence. Long, long silence.

'So why'd you leave?' Paul asked finally.

I stared at him with the coldest anger I'd felt in a long time. As if he didn't KNOW. I swear, he's either clueless or cruel. I didn't bother to answer him. I just continued staring at him, not believing what he was asking.

'We were worried,' Paul went on. 'You went AWOL on us. CeeCee said something about her car being gone, so I figured you went home.'

'This isn't home,' I replied flatly. 'This is an ex-boarding school for boys, inhabited by a group of for horny eighteen-year-old ghosts. This is work, Paul. Not home.'

Paul smirked at me in the most annoying way and said, 'I think it's kind of cozy here.'

Yeah. If you like that _House on Haunted Hill_ type of thing. An interior complimented with nice cobwebs for added effect. I couldn't think of anything any LESS cozy.

Except . . . Paul's grandpa's house.

Glass . . . cold . . . blue.

I glared at him icily again. Leave it up to someone like PAUL to like creepy places. This school was, like, BUILT for him or something. He could go off and marry it for all I cared. Then he can live all alone in this old dust-bunny-infested "house" and take care of the pesky ghost problem all by himself.

He didn't need MY help. Or anyone else's for that matter. Because he was Paul-Look-At-Me-I'm-Better-Than-You-Slater.

Even in the silence, my mind was shouting. Shouting at Paul for obvious reasons, but also shouting at myself for letting it get to me like that. Why did I let him control me like this? Why did I let his stupid words affect me so much?

That's all they were. Stupid words. From Paul. Stupid Paul.

But if he was so stupid, then why did I still feel so low?

'So,' Paul said conversationally, placing his glass down on the table he was leaning on, 'are you going to tell me why you left the club?'

I froze, but replied with a firm, 'No.'

Paul traced the rim of his water glass with one index finger boredly. He looked up at me with his eerie blue eyes . . . eyes that used to melt me, but in a totally different way than they did now. It was almost as if he were expecting me to say something like my reasoning for leaving or something. Well, if that's what he wanted then . . . too bad.

I'll never tell.

Like Brittany Murphy in _Don't Say a Word._

. . . Yeah. I'm psychotic too. Kudos to me.

But he kept looking at me. Staring at me as if he concentrated more, he'd be able to see right through me. It was so scary – no, ANNOYING – that I quickly snapped without thinking, 'Would you stop it!'

Paul threw me an innocent smile, the one thing Paul seemed to do without a protesting headache. 'Stop what?'

Realizing what I'd said, I clamped my mouth shut quickly. Stupid mouth, STUPID MOUTH. 'Stop doing that thing,' I replied lamely.

'What thing?' Paul asked, again with the innocent smiling. God, you'd think he was one of heaven's own angels or something.

Or maybe hell's. Hehe, then he could join his biker buddies.

And combust, like the other ones did.

Or, you know, get crushed by a chapel.

I still didn't know how I did that.

But I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him now. I wasn't going to ask him anything like that again. I couldn't believe that I was standing here, talking to him. After being dissed so bad by him. But I just . . . I couldn't move. Like it was too hard, or something.

I tossed my hair, and looked away a little.

'What thing?' he persisted. He took another sip of his water.

'Who cares?' I said dismissively, crossing my arms nervously.

I seriously could not move from that spot. I was like, cemented to the wall near the door.

'Fine,' he shrugged.

'Fine.'

'Good.'

'Great.'

'Fantastic.'

'Wonderful.'

'Fuck off.'

'You too.'

'You more.'

'You the most.'

Joy. He reached the superlative before me. I pursed my lips, and glared. 'Grow up,' I said after a moment.

'I will if you will,' he replied airily.

I flushed, and my eyes flickered away from him, _again_.

'I've . . . I've grown,' I murmured in my defense.

His smile became less innocent. It became a smirk. Something so typical of him. 'I'll say.'

Again, my cheeks went hot. He was treating me exactly like what he'd said. I mean . . . _he_ was the one who was objectifying me here. So why was _I_ the one that got called the whore?

I didn't understand.

I wanted to leave.

. . . But I couldn't move.

My eyes narrowed. 'You're a freak, Paul,' I said with a very subtle aggression.

I knew good and well that he hated that word. "Freak." He'd told me that a long time ago. He'd told me that on the night that he'd ruined everything for me.

He chuckled, and I noticed a slight lack of humour, now.

'You still didn't answer me,' he said, his voice possessing a lot more clarity than my own.

'Huh?'

'Why?'

I blinked, stalling. 'Why what?'

He sighed in exasperation, looking headachy again. 'Why'd you leave the God damn club?'

'Why not?' I said lightly. Although, I wasn't exactly feeling all that light.

He groaned at that. Too hungover for this, I guess.

And still, after a night of alcohol, he looked hot. You know, with his hair all tousled in an I-just-got-out-of-bed-after-partying-madly sort of way. His eyes were toned a tired blue color, but still as searing as ever. Still hot, just not in such a good way.

I knew what he thought of me.

And I couldn't see him the same way.

I looked away, and swallowed down something prickly and hard. My confidence – what he hadn't raped me of that previous night – was draining away, fast.

'I – um, I left – I was tired. I came here . . . and I slept. Tired. I get – um, tired a lot,' I stuttered an explanation, one which I'd pulled out of my ass.

This conversation was so cold, it froze me. So impersonal.

And you know the worst thing?

He knew what he'd said last night had affected me.

I was sure of it. There was something in his eye . . . nonchalance. But beyond that, dwelt something a little more sinister.

'Couldn't find Jesse at all last night,' he smiled at me.

Another sip of water.

I went ghastly pale.

'You looked for him?' I asked skeptically.

'Sure I did,' he said. 'I wanted to see if Jack was okay. Jack said that Jesse wasn't there. Hadn't been for a while. I mean, I knew the guy was a piece of shit, but I thought that at least he wouldn't leave Jack on his own. God. I didn't know he was _that_ irresponsible.'

He knew.

I could see it in his smile.

He knew that Jesse had spent the night with me. He just wanted me to give him confirmation. He wanted to prove he was right.

And even if he did know that _nothing_ had happened, well . . . he was ignoring that.

'I was going to have a go at him,' he went on slyly. 'But . . . no one could find him. Or you, even.'

I just stared at the ground, as he shoved me farther into a cold, numb, inescapable place. Where everything was grey.

A place that I thought only Cole could have sent me.

I was wrong.

You may have thought that I, Susannah Simon, would be FURIOUS at such a subtle accusation. That I would yell in indignation, defending myself and my morality, that Jesse and I had NOT had sex, as he was so obviously implying.

I haven't even HAD sex.

God!

. . . But I didn't.

I took it all, completely unable to reply. Almost as much as I couldn't move. I was there for Paul to taunt me as he pleased. For him to degrade me, and make me feel low, and dirty.

Even though I wasn't . . . that's how he made me feel.

Everything just seemed so . . . cold.

'I – um, I'm just gonna . . . ' I attempted, but only managed to very skillfully trail off.

'You don't happen to know where Jesse was last night, do you?' Paul probed, his tone still light and seemingly curious.

Curious. He wasn't curious. He was asking a question that he knew the answer to. Well . . . in a twisted way, he did.

I'd slept with Jesse. Just . . . not in the way that Paul – and the rest of the world – would think, if I phrased it like that.

But I would NEVER voice anything like that out loud.

Because I guess that Paul's statement about me would turn out to be kind of true.

I couldn't bring myself to answer him. Not even to lie. Because if I did lie, he would know. He saw right through me.

He must have seen the defeat in my expression. His fierce blues mocked me, laughed at me, poked and prodded me. It was like going under the knife, only without blood.

'Is that CeeCee calling me in there?' I asked, quickly holding my hand to my ear.

Paul furrowed his eyebrows. 'I didn't hear anything.'

'Well, I did,' I said, quickly heading toward the kitchen. 'See ya.'

'Wait,' Paul called after me. His voice put a cement wall all around me.

I turned around slowly, trying to concentrate my vision on something else. My eyes wandered to his feet. I wondered if Paul had six toes on one foot or something. Just then, I notice them shift a little bit, which caused me to slide my eyes up and look right at him. He steadied himself on his feet, but still rested his hand on the table for support.

'I just wanted to tell you that I . . . '

My widened eyes snapped to his unpurposefully. He kind of trailed off for a minute, which definitely caught my attention.

Was this . . . an apology? For what he said the night before? "Suze, I was wrong and I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry"?

I looked at him hopefully. Maybe he'll admit he was drunk. Yeah, he had to be. Why else would he say that. He couldn't have meant it.

Paul wasn't that much of a bad guy after all . . . was he?

WAS HE?

Pleasepleaseapologizeplease. C'mon. Be sorry . . . please. I'm sorry. That's all I needed to hear.

' . . . I think you're a great dancer.'

Another sip of water. A ring was forming on the wood of the table. Much like the ring that encircled my heart and squeezed it so hard that I felt my blood couldn't get anywhere. That's probably why I felt so cold.

Oh.

'Thanks. I, um, I . . . uh,' I mumbled. I left my thoughts unspoken, my words unsaid and got the heck out of there. I could have sworn I heard Paul laugh to himself as I left, but that may have just been my ears deceiving me. I wouldn't be surprised. He was just that . . . that . . . hateful.

Why did it matter whether or not Paul apologized? I mean, I hated him, right? This is just another reason to loathe his entire being. I can go off and start making little voodoo dolls of him or go back to throwing darts at his picture or drawing uni-brows and Hitler mustaches on him. He was just trying to annoy me and, as usual, succeeding.

Only, this time it hurt.

- 8 -

Class favorites. I remember the week they did nominations for them. The yearbook staff collected the votes and tallied them for every category from Best Legs, to Mr and Miss Mission Academy. There were a ton of categories in between, but the most coveted was the title of Best Dressed.

It went to Kelly, of course, but only because she totally slept with the head yearbook editor.

Well, that's what Debbie Mancuso said when she didn't get it.

I, of course, got Girl Who Most Frequently Wears Black.

Which is a very small step up from Most Likely To Dismember Someone that I'd been awarded back in Brooklyn.

Meh.

I sat in the lobby with a heavy yearbook spread out in my lap. It was Fortunaschwein's 1969 book, old and dusty. There were so many faces . . . snot-nosed brats all the way to smug independent seniors. All of the boys were different in their own way. I could pick out the jocks, the geeks, the freaks. But where did the Misforts fit in?

I looked under all the boys' names to see what awards and titles they had. Most Likely To Succeed went to some uber-nerd with huge thick rimmed glasses that won the Science Fair. Best Smile went to a guy with an enormous mouth comparable to the great Steven Tyler's, and an even bigger set of teeth.

All of the boys were dressed to the nines in their blazers and ties for their pictures. There were the usual pictures where some boys had their eyes half-closed, some were not even looking at the camera.

Still no sign of the Misforts and their bright, shiny faces.

It wasn't until the last page of the seniors, that I noticed they weren't in it. At all. And they weren't going to be in it. In small print in the bottom left corner, there was a column that read "Students Not Pictured".

And right under it, the full names of all the Misforts were printed in big, bold upper case.

_CHARLES AUSTIN  
NATHANIEL BLAKE  
ROBIN LAWRENCE_

Wait a minute . . . that's three. Where's the runt? Bart?

Then I remembered, he was a year younger. I flipped a few pages back and saw just the same thing.

_BARTHOLOMEW FORD._

I went through all of the sports pages.

_Varsity Swim Team, Not Pictured:  
NATHANIEL BLAKE, ROBIN LAWRENCE_

Cross Country, Not Pictured:  
CHARLES AUSTIN

Latin Club, Not Pictured:  
BARTHOLOMEW FORD

Wow. Okay. Looks like Photo Day was _after_ the guys had eaten smoke. That kind of sucked, huh? I mean, it couldn't have been BEFORE? No. They had to die, and never be remembered.

How rude.

Ha. It was their suicide, not mine. They were the ones who decided to end their life. So why were they all of a sudden so bitter about it?

Unless, of course, they DIDN'T kill themselves in the fiery death chamber, aka attic. That's what CeeCee said the report said. That they killed themselves, I mean. But why in THAT manner?

The freakiest part was that the cause of the fire was unknown. No traces of cigarette butts or gasoline or chemistry projects gone wrong. Nothing except for their charred remains.

My mind instantly flashed back to the other night. All I could think about was those four burnt flowers. Scorched almost beyond recognition. That must have been exactly how their bodies were found.

A chill coursed through my body just thinking about the visions. But maybe they had a reason for showing me that stuff. The blood, the laughing, the flowers, the burning doorknob . . . maybe there was a connection. But what did it all mean?

'Whatcha doing?'

Startled, I jumped in my seat, knocking the yearbook from my lap onto the lobby's lavishly carpeted floor. I looked up and saw that it was only Jack, and then I relaxed.

'Shit, Jack,' I said, placing my hand over my thudding heart. 'You scared me half to death.'

'Really – ' Jack began, but then he corrected himself instantly, 'I mean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.'

I sat back down again, and the room fell silent as I stared blankly at the pages of the yearbook. I was aware Jack was still standing there patiently, hand in his pockets.

He stood there. And stood there. And stood there some more. Finally, it got to the point where his standing there was just making me nervous.

'Do you need anything, Jack?' I asked, my dry throat cracking.

'Nope,' he replied with the trademark Slater smile, 'I'm just standing here.'

'I'm aware of that,' I mumbled, flipping a page in the yearbook to busy my mind from certain other things.

You know, like how much Jack resembles his older brother. Same gut-wrenchingly political smile, same fluoride-enhanced teeth. The only difference? I didn't want to punch Jack's out. His teeth, I mean.

Jack kicked the fringe on the edge of the carpet. Then he asked, 'Have you seen Jesse?'

'No, not since-'

EEP! What was I saying?

'_No_,' I answered sternly. 'No I haven't, okay?'

'Are you sure?' he grinned, 'last night when he went away, he said it was because of you, and then he didn't come back. So – '

'LOOK,' I roared at him, standing up suddenly and shoving his shoulders, 'I have NOT seen him! I don't know what Paul has _said_ to you, but would you PLEASE shut the HELL up about it, because it's NOT _true_, and if you ask ANOTHER word about _whatever_ he told you, I will KILL you and make it look like an accident!'

Jack looked back at me stunned.

. . . And hurt.

I stopped glaring, and realized I'd made a big boo-boo. Jack didn't have a clue about what Paul had called me. He just wanted to know where Jesse was. Because he was friends with the guy. He hadn't been taunting me.

He wasn't Paul.

'I'm – I'm sorry,' he spluttered, 'I didn't mean – I mean, I wasn't – Paul hasn't said anyth – sorry – '

His sharp blue eyes were glinting with hurt. He looked rather ashamed of himself, as well as utterly confused.

So what was the grown-up thing to do? Comfort him?

. . . Well, we all know what a stellar grown up I turned out to be.

So I mumbled something at him, and took off, out of the lobby.

It seemed all that I did these days was run down these Fortunaschweinian hallways.

I ran away from Jack. Just like I did with all my problems. Leaving yet another mess behind me. Or in this case, an upset thirteen year old who didn't know what he'd said to make me so mad. I mean, seriously, I'd threatened murder. I wouldn't kill him. Duh. I'm not a killer. But still, I'd been so angry to think that he too might have been ready to call me a whore, on his brother's order.

He wouldn't have, though. He was Jack.

He wasn't his brother, no how much he sometimes wanted to be.

I hated being here. This whole place. I hated it so much. I couldn't handle these things. I just couldn't. I couldn't deal. It was too hard. I mean, being called that didn't exactly give me an ego boost. If anything, it yanked my already fragile self-esteem back down to zero.

Thanks a bunch, Paulie.

And plus . . . I was probably getting unfit, too.

Which IS surprising, considering how much running I apparently do.

I stopped at the same room I'd been in last night. Me and Jesse. When he'd found me, crying my soul out. My fingers ran down the door frame gently, feeling cold. I blinked, and stepped inside, looking at how the bed was still perfectly neat, a great relief to me. You know, that there was NO possible way that anything whorish could have occurred.

I sighed, went in, and lay back on said bed, my hair fanning out around my head. I shut my eyes longingly. They still ached from the previous night's crying. I turned over so I was on my side, and my face was half-sinking into the feather pillow.

I felt torn. Damaged. Tainted.

_Just shift. Get away from it all . . . shift, so no one will bother you . . . _

How had my whole life gotten this crummy?

This grey?

Well . . . okay, that was a stupid question. I mean, _obviously_ it was because of Paul.

However . . . I'd thought about this forever, but . . . I dunno. Five years ago, at The Point, where Paul had taken me, after Jesse had left (for the first time,) – yeah, I know, it's complicated – I've said it before, I know, but Paul had been willing to drop everything for me. His college applications, everything. Sure, he'd totally taken advantage of me when I needed sympathy after Jesse had left me, right after graduation, but . . . he HAD cared. Back then.

. . . And as soon as Jesse came back, I was so quick to forget about Paul, despite everything he'd done – you know, taking me to hospital after I'd almost been hit by a car out on The Point.

So maybe it was a little bit my fault.

But not much. Because Paul SO didn't have to go and tell Jesse that I'd been out with him, kissing him. So what if it was true? I hadn't INTENDED to, in fact, Paul had outright FORCED kisses out of me, after breaking me down enough.

That was when they both left.

And I was left alone, in a hospital room.

I wasn't worth it to them, anymore . . .

And I guess not. I mean . . . even if I HAD have, you know, gone with Paul, I still would have dropped him like a hot potato, the moment Jesse wanted me again. What kind of a relationship would that have been?

Nothing.

And besides . . . if Jesse hadn't wanted me, I figured, who could?

This perfect, perfect guy . . . the only guy I had loved . . . and he hadn't wanted to be with me.

So if someone I loved that much could have refused me, how could I have stayed with Paul? As in, like a back-up or something?

Well, whatever. I lost them both. I was a pathetic teenager, and I lost both of them, because I'd been so reckless, and _stupid_.

That was over now. And this was the aftermath.

My devastated life.

I guess I deserved everything I got, now. I'd hurt Paul. I'd hurt Jesse. And my dad –

. . . You don't want to know what happened with my dad.

Whatever. It made sense. Paul was a ruiner.

_And I was a hurter._

I guess it fit. He'd destroy something of mine, and I'd hit him right back.

Where it hurt . . .

So. We'd all contributed to this mess that I was drowning in now. Me, Jesse, and Paul. It was all our faults that I was this useless, low piece of scum.

You know, who pretty much made thirteen year olds cry.

Oh well.

This is my life.

All I had to do was wait for CeeCee to get some more research, and then I'd be able to make Bartholomew Ford, Charles Austin, Nathaniel Blake, and Robin Lawrence move on, and then I could get out of here, and I could keep running away from Paul, and from Jesse, and from Cole, and from . . . life.

Who ran away from their life, anyway?

. . . CeeCee was good at research. She'd get the information we all needed to get them out of here, _without_ exorcising them, because I'm just such an obedient little child of the Lord.

Ugh.

Kill me.

Whoever was listening to my thoughts, apparently, obviously took my last request literally. And even if they didn't, they sent some very lovely potential assassins who seemed pleased to try and do the job. Kill me, I mean.

You see, it was about that moment in my train of thought when a large, hot hand landed heavily on my shoulder, and I was immediately alerted of the arrival of the Fab Four.

And BELIEVE me when I say it wasn't the Beatles.

My eyes snapped right open, and I sat up with a glare. And although I was determined to hide it, slight fear. A horrible, clenching sensation developed in my abdomen, making me feel quite sick.

The hand in question belonged to a Mr. Lawrence. He leaned right down over me, bringing his face close to mine . . .

'_Boo_.'

I shoved his hand off of my shoulder, and squirmed back a little on the bed. It was just a single, so any more movement and I was going to fall off. Big deal. 'Um, boo to you too. What do you want?'

He stood up, standing about three steps in front of the other three. Nathan and Charlie actually happened to be smiling. Bart just looked anxious.

Little turd . . . bah.

'Do I even have to answer that?' Robin asked, his lips curling suggestively into a smirk. My gaze intensity flickered for a spell, but I decided that standing up would be the best option. I tugged down my sweater for good measure. My heart had started beating faster the moment he'd made contact with me, and was not looking like it would be slowing down any time soon.

'Right,' I mumbled. I crossed my arms over my chest, and gave him a " . . . Well?" look.

Nathan took a lazy step forward, so he was next to Robin. He tossed his elbow over Robbie's shoulder, and leant on it, so they both looked rather chummy. I guess that these two were like, best friends. I mean, more so than with Charles, and definitely the pipsqueak. 'Heard you went partying last night,' he drawled boredly, 'Where was my invite, Susie?'

I flickered with annoyance his choice of nickname, but ignored it casually. 'Lost in the mail,' I shrugged, furtively edging back. What? I hadn't forgotten the last time that they'd graced me with their presence. Well, sort of.

Their haunting, I mean. The blood. The fire. The laughing. Illusions. It had chilled me to the bone.

Like _I Still Know What You Did Last Summer_. And poison oak.

. . . And cockroaches.

Nathan was grinning at Robbie, with narrowed, smug looking eyes. Robin was leering at me. So was Charlie, behind them. Runty still looked kind of worried.

Must be fearful of his weak bladder.

'You came home sooner than we expected, Susie,' Nathan slurred, tilting his head forward and looking back to me. I pursed my lips, and stood dead still, not wanting to make any sudden movements around them. My heart was still thudding a million and one beats per second. 'We were going to pay you a visit last night, but you were sad. And this morning, we were going to drop in and say hi . . . but you were busy.'

I raised my eyebrows nervously. 'Uh huh.'

Robbie's leer turned to a stony look. 'Yeah, busy. Looking at things that are none of your business.'

I just blinked, oblivious. Huh?

Oh. 'The yearbook?' I frowned, 'I have no business looking at some yearbook? It's not as if you're even fully there,' I shrugged, with a small laugh, 'I mean, you killed yourselves before the school pictures were taken – '

Robbie seized my wrist, and yanked me forward so I almost collided with him. A look of murder stole his eyes, and he glowered into mine. He clenched my wrist tightly, and hissed at me, 'You just want to get rid of us, don't you?'

Nuuuuuuuuh.

I gave him a sarcastic smile. 'Why of course not, dearie, I want to have a Tupperware party. Of COURSE I want to get rid of you, loser. Just, you know, fairly.'

At that, his other hand came to my hip, and he forced me against him like I was this flimsy toy or something, and he dug his fingers very sharply into my side. A harsh gasp was torn from my throat. I mean, come on, it _hurt_.

At least he didn't have Dani's knife-like fingernails.

Eww . . . Thank God.

'Well,' he snapped down at me into my hair, 'We're sticking me around as long as we feel like. No amount of your _research_ is going to make us move on. So stop trying, Susie. Or we won't be as hospitable as we've been thus far. Right boys?' he looked over his shoulder at the other three, who all nodded, with evil smiles spread across their faces.

Well, scratch that. Bart was just nodding like he felt he was supposed to.

I seriously think that the little guy's on something.

. . . Well, I _would_ if I knew that ghosts could get high.

Cough.

I shoved myself away from Robbie's body, but he still held my wrist in his killer grip. 'I've been doing this for a long time. It's my life. I have a very sucky life. But I know what I'm doing, and if you piss me off, by GOD, you are going down. I could get rid of you right now, if I wanted. But Father Dom told me not to. So you should be thanking him that you're still here, and NOT hitting him over the head with a shovel,' I retorted furiously at him.

He actually looked clueless for a second, but he didn't deny it. The whole shovel-incident, I mean. Maybe Charlie did it . . . stupid mucho black guy . . . go grow an afro, you foolish poophead –

'If you don't want to end up like the priest,' Robin Lawrence went on, bringing my attention back to him, 'Then you'll get the hell out of here. You and your little _agency_.'

'That's not gonna happen, kid,' I threw my features into mega bitch-mode, I mean – he WAS a kid, wasn't he? He was only eighteen. 'You don't belong in the realm of the living. You're dead.'

'So is your cowboy,' Charlie pointed out in a veeeeeeery deep voice, unlike Dani's gay underwear model buddy.

I shook my head quickly, and tugged my wrist from his hand. 'You're causing trouble to those who actually still have heartbeats. Jesse isn't. He helps the living. He's nice. He - '

Robin narrowed his eyes in a sinister mode. 'You seem rather attached to the cowboy,' he mentioned.

'Shut up,' I scowled, 'Don't push it, I'm ALREADY really pissed off – '

Nathan laughed from behind them. 'She's probably screwing him,' he shrugged, elbowing Robin with a wide grin.

Okay. _That's it._

I drew back my fist, and punched in outright in his stupid, conceited face, as hard as I could.

He fell back in a huge mess, swearing and holding his nose. He let out a long, loud groan, and then glared at me from over his hand. Bart's face spasmed in what looked like approval or amusement, or something, but then he quickly coughed, and looked away.

'It was just a guess,' Nathan growled at me.

I rubbed my knuckle, because it was sore. 'Stop guessing then,' I said maladroitly. 'You leave Jesse alone. He's a sweet little virgin who wouldn't hurt a fly,' I scolded.

. . . HEHEHE.

I had no idea if Jesse WAS a virgin. I believed that he'd died one. Unless he was a frequent visitor to the Salinas brothel, or something.

. . . Ewwwwwwwww . . .

And hey, maybe since I'd left, he'd found a nice dead girl to get un-virgin-y with.

Robin was looking at Nathan in shock, when he rounded on me again. 'Don't you worry about your cowboy,' he spat at me in angry threat, 'Watch your own back, Susie.'

DON'T . . . CALL . . . ME . . . _SUSIE_.

It was worse than SUE.

ARGH.

I rolled my eyes. 'Please. That was lame. And grossly unoriginal.'

Nathan's nose had made a full spectral recovery, by then. 'It won't be so lame when you start losing members of your group,' he glared at me, pouting that he'd been struck by a girl. Especially one my size. I wasn't exactly towering over them.

I gave him a wry smile. 'Whatever, Nat.'

'We'll start with the white one,' Charles growled.

He could have meant Father Dom. But I was guessing it was CeeCee, because Father D wasn't here.

I mean . . . maybe it was Dani. Maybe her hair was naturally white. Maybe she was really some ugly eighty year old prostitute, and had gotten a buttload of plastic surgery to look young.

Charles fully reminded me of that guy from, you know, _Pirates of the Caribbean_? The one who slaps Keira Knightly? And when he says, "you brought us the wrong _person_!" his pectorals tense up? It's kind of eww-y, actually. And very funny. But still, Charlie Austin was totally that guy. All muscle and aggression. 'I could snap her like a twig.'

'Wow,' I mused. 'You guys are really starting to worry me. I mean . . . come on, these anger vibes I'm getting from you are quite stinky. As soon as I finish my psychology class at B.C and get my degree, I will be very willing to give you all a psychoanalysis, free of charge. Because, ladies, these anger issues are kind of a turn off.'

Nate stumbled up, grabbing Bart's shoulder for support and practically tearing it off. Bart looked pissed, but stayed silent, his blond hair falling over his eyes a little, making him look all cute and innocent and babyish.

He didn't belong with the other three.

'Oh, we have anger issues all right,' Nathan marched up next to Robbie, and waggled a finger at me in ire, 'With you. We're staying. We've been here for over fifty years!'

What?

. . . Fifty?

Wait. It was 2009. They died 1969.

Oh my God, I'm such a dorky mathematician. That's forty years, not thirty. And the other years must have been when they were alive. 'We're not going to let you shove us out of here so some fat bastard can come in here to live!'

But we ALL know that he's really just Mike Myers in a fat-suit –

Oops, they died before Austin Powers.

'Whatever,' I shrugged. I wondered how Father Dom's perfect rules could apply in this situation. No exorcisms, and stuff. I so badly wanted to kick the crap out of them. 'Okay, thanks for cheering me up. I need to punch piss-heads like yourselves more often.' I breezed past Robbie and Nathan to the door of the dormitory. It looked so different from last night. There was grey light flooding the corners, now, as opposed to the impenetrable darkness from the previous night. As my hand had stretched out to grab the doorknob, I was suddenly slammed against it. The door, not the doorknob.

And it HURT.

Robin had pinned me there, smashing the side of my head against the wood. I writhed beneath him, incapable of speech at that moment. The door had definitely broke the skin on my forehead a little.

'Keep going on like that, and maybe you'll eventually join your albino friend, when we decide we're bored.' His ghost of a body was right up against the back of mine, pinioning me there. The side of his face was against the back of my head, as he hissed wrathfully in my ear. I winced, 'let me _go_.'

I GOT ENOUGH SHIT FROM THE _LIVING_! WHY THE _DEAD_, TOO?

He suddenly pulled on my hair, causing my head to tilt right back sharply, sending horrible pain up my neck as if he'd snapped it. A dog-like yelp burbled from my mouth, as he forcefully brought my ear back that much closer to his mouth. His lips formed the words in his threat, making me hear, feel, and recognize them as they trailed across my skin like cryogenic ice, 'This school is _ours_. We ruled it back when we were alive . . . we rule it now. What we say goes. And there's nothing you can do about it.'

And he tipped my head back that _little_ bit further, before smashing it brutally into the door.

My cry was horribly strangled. That was DEFINITELY going to leave a mark. He hadn't just broken the skin, this time. He'd given me a simply _enchanting_ head injury.

Why? Why was it always guys that did this? When the gal ghosts attacked, I wasn't scared. But when the dudes had a go at me . . . I could hardly breathe.

And it wasn't just with the dead ones, either.

Robbie repeated this action swiftly, so I half-shrieked again for him to stop, and then he threw me across the floor, so I was sprawled on my stomach. I skidded a few inches more, and then lay motionless for a moment.

Ow . . . ow . . . my head . . .

My fingers were shaking. It took massive amounts of effort, but I slowly rotated, to see Robin now standing at my feet, looking homicidal.

So with all my energy, I kicked at one of his kneecaps, temporarily snapping it right back.

He roared in pain, crumbling to the ground. I tried wriggling back, but despite his leg, he seized my ankle, dragged me back, and then landed heaving on top of me, his face twisted in the pain that he would feel for only moments longer.

I hadn't realized how mad he'd be, though.

He'd managed to pin me down. I felt a dribble of something roll down my forehead, and I momentarily freaked and thought Robbie was drooling.

. . . He wasn't.

With one hand, he supported himself, and with the other, he grabbed my chin, HARD, in his hand.

'I guess you won't leave our school without a _fight_, Susie,' he menaced in rage. 'You want a fight? _You just got one_.'

He laughed, as there was a click, indicating that his knee was no longer broken. 'It'll take a lot more than that cowboy in your bed to keep us away from you,' he whispered in a low, carnal growl. He lowered his face fleetingly, stole a kiss, and then got off of me quickly. I tried to stand, but he shoved his boot down on my shoulder, and twisted it callously. I turned my head in agony, rather than granting him with any scream.

'You _bastard – _' I began hatefully at him, when he kicked me in the stomach. That time, I couldn't keep the shout inside of me. I curled on my side in pain, jamming my eyes shut tightly, and when I opened them, they were all gone.

. . . They'd won. I couldn't _believe _it.

We were obviously going to be anticipating bigger and better things from the M&M&M&Ms.

Shut up . . .they're all Misfortunates. I was being clever, a RARE thing for me!

Hmph.

I just lay there, feeling winded. I'd inhale air, hold it to stop the pain, and then I'd release it as quickly as I could, to get it over with. Exhalation was when it hurt the most.

I guess I should have taken Jesse more seriously when he'd said that they'd come after me.

I didn't know why.

. . . Was I the most vulnerable?

Oh, GOD.

I moaned, and felt another bead of liquid run down my forehead. Lifting my hand up, I gently felt for the source of it.

It was blood.

With an unattractive grimace, I drew in a deep breath, and then hoisted myself up, leaving heavily on the grey bed beside me. I crawled onto it, and closed my eyes again, gripping my stomach. It was aching. He didn't have to _kick_ it like it was some football. That was just RUDE.

Wow. They'd really done a number on me.

Isn't my life just a bowl of honey-roasted macadamias?

I got called a whore.

And then I got kicked in the tummy.

But things were SO uncalled for.

I shut my eyes even harder, and twisted it into the pillow, not caring it I stained it with any blood.

That was when I felt weight beside me –

I jerked my head back around, but a hand came right over my mouth.

First thought: COLE! AAAAAAAAAAH!

. . . But it wasn't Cole.

It was –

'Mmm!' I mmm-ed indignantly, at the hand over my mouth.

A hand that belonged to Bartholomew Ford.

'MMMMMM! Mmm – !'

'Shhhh,' he whispered. 'Don't worry . . . I won't hurt you.'

He placed a silencing finger over his hand that was still covering my lips, and then slid his hand out. I stared at him curiously.

'You're bleeding,' he said sympathetically, his eyes raking my hairline, 'Sorry 'bout Robbie. He's the world's biggest jerk.' His last statement was mentioned in the quietest of undertones, as if worried that his buddy would hear him.

Ever so gently, he rolled me on my back, lifted my hands away from my stomach, and slid my sweater up a little. A mournful look crossed his boyish face, that he hadn't grown into yet. 'He kicked you real hard,' he concluded, making me wonder HOW obvious it was. 'You're bruising,' he added in explanation.

I groaned. 'Oh goodie.'

God knows I got enough of them.

Bruises, I mean.

Proudly Sponsored by Cole Kennedy Inc.

He pulled the sweater back down, and helped me sit up. I leant against him, screwing my face up as I did so. My stomach ached like the tortures of hell, and using the muscles in said stomach wasn't very helpful. Once in a sitting position, I asked him, 'Why are you helping me?'

He looked a little pained. 'I'm . . . I'm not like them,' was all he said. He actually looked a bit guilty to be helping me. I decided that I wouldn't use it against him. He was obviously going out on a limb, here.

'Right,' I muttered. 'Erm . . . thanks, then.'

He smiled. 'If they find out – what's the worst that can happen? They can't . . . kill me again,' he said, again, his voice dipping to a low volume. He aided me in standing. 'If you don't mind me asking,' he began, 'why were you crying last night?'

I closed my eyes briefly, and murmured something in the back of my throat. 'Nothing . . . '

The look in his eyes told me that he did want to know, but didn't want to ask again.

So I sighed, 'Paul just said something kind of . . . um, degrading to me.'

'Paul? The suit?'

'Yeah.'

'What he say?'

I hesitated. 'He called me . . . a whore,' I shrugged. 'I guess I'm over reacting, I just – I'm not used to – I didn't know that's how people saw me – '

Bart looked rather annoyed. At Paul, I hoped. 'You're not . . . what he said,' he mumbled. Aww. The seventeen-year-old didn't want to say the widdle-"w"-word. Aww. 'You're more conservative than most of the gals I knew. And you're a lot prettier than them, too.'

Oh my God, this guy was so sweet.

I smiled shyly. 'Thanks,' I blushed.

I OFFICIALLY TAKE BACK CALLING THIS GUY A RUNT.

AND A PIPSQUEAK.

And . . . whatever else I called him.

He was a TOTAL cutie-pie.

As I said before, like a mini-Heath-Ledger.

A blond one, anyway.

We were at the door by then. I leaned against the wall, and just breathed. My stomach would get better soon. 'Thanks,' I expressed my gratitude again. For helping me, not calling me pretty.

He nodded. 'I . . . I can't control them. I'm sorry for what they do . . . they don't listen to me. I'm not as strong as them, I can't fight them. They pick on me all the time. I'm sorry – '

'It's okay,' I interrupted. 'You're one of the decent ones, Bartie. They're all losers, and they're probably going to jock-hell when they move on.'

I mean, Bart would totally go to heaven.

How can a guy who was in the LATIN CLUB go to hell?

Bart avoided my eyes for a moment, and then looked up at me guiltily. 'I'm sure,' he said quickly and dismissively. 'Well . . . I'll watch on you till you get back to your friends. Susie?' he said suddenly.

I winced again, at him calling me that. But I guess I'd just called him Bartie, something which he most likely despised. 'Hmm?'

'Don't take Robbie lightly. And take his advice, too.'

'What do you – '

'Watch your back.'

'Oh, right,' I mumbled. 'Sure will – '

'No,' he cut me, 'Really. Get the cowboy to stay with you. Because Robbie is angry with you. You see . . . ' he leaned in, 'He didn't commit suicide.'

My mouth fell open.

Wow.

'Then – '

But he gently pushed me out into the hall, and dematerialized. I knew he was still watching me from somewhere, so he would still be listening, but I wasn't about to should out, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE DIDN'T COMMIT SUICIDE, BART?" because that would defeat the purpose of his whispering thing.

So holding onto the darkly papered wall, I made my way back to civilization.

Well, I began to, when Jesse materialized in front of me, smiling.

His smile slid off his face, though, like an egg yolk on a window.

'_Susannah?_ Dios, what _happened_ to you?'

Oh, well that's nice.

_Great_ to know that at times of violence, I still look my best.

- 8 -

Sorry we took so long!

STOP ASKING US WHEN COLE'S COMING. WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT HIM, OKAY?

Good.

Love ya!

Lolly and Hayles, who are NOW BOTH AT SCHOOL AND CANNOT BE EXPECTED TO UPDATE QUICKLY!

. . . Purple monkey dishwasher . . .


	19. Near Death Experiences

**Sorry this took forever. It's one of our SHORTER chapters! Only 37 pages, shock/horror.**

**My God . . .**

**Hahaha. Well, okay, review or . . . I dunno. But it will be bad.**

**Okay. I'm technically banned off the computer, so I'll upload this kinda sharpish, you know?**

**Love Lolly, (and Hayley.)**

**- 8 -**

Jesse's eyes were bugged.

Which really, really sucked.

I mean, I already felt bad enough. I didn't necessarily need to know that I LOOKED bad, too. I was still leaning against the walls as I was walking, so I wasn't even supporting myself either.

'Oh, me?' I giggled weakly, 'I'm _fine_.'

Jesse's eyes narrowed, and very carefully, he came behind me, and slid one of my arms around his neck, and he slid one of HIS arms around my waist, juuuuuust missing the bit where Robin had kicked it. Thank God. I didn't want to have to explain that, too.

So, with me leaning into him, I was now making a slightly quicker way down the endless passageways of Fortunaschwein. Oh, goodie. Everybody just LOVES a maze that they can get lost in.

Not.

'Please, Susannah,' he said. Ever since last night, he'd been using a different tone of voice with me. Gentler, I suppose. I didn't know what that meant. It was actually making me very nervous. 'Tell me what happened.'

My other shoulder was killing me. The one that Robin had stepped on.

. . . That sounded weird, that way. Like my shoulder was a fresh swirl of doggie poopie, or something.

Whatever.

'Do you even have to ask?' I said with a pained, but wry smile, repeating what Robbie had said earlier to me.

'Hmm,' Jesse murmured. 'Misfortunates, I presume?'

Give that girl a prize.

. . . Hehehe . . . I called Jesse a girl –

'Yeah,' I winced. My stomach was still really tender. I was just glad that he was holding me from my right side, and was just missing it with his hand. The kick bruise, I mean.

Seriously, how RUDE was that? Way to kick a girl when she's down.

He didn't ask much more on the subject, because he obviously guessed that I wasn't really feeling like recounting.

Since Jesse couldn't actually materialize anywhere with me, this was going to be a slow trip. I mean, he could dematerialize all his troubles away while carrying OBJECTS, but not people, and most certainly not shifters. I dunno. Something to do with clashing auras. And shifters had more defensive auras that kept them firmly in the realm that they WANTED to be. Paul had told me about it a long time ago.

Back when I used to have shifter lessons.

Back when I would have kicked Robin Lawrence's ass, and used his butt cheeks to park my bike.

. . . Okay . . . that sounded gross.

So, Jesse and I began the long walk up to my fourth room floor. 'You should seriously consider moving your things to a room closer to the rest of the living,' he pointed out on the third floor stairway.

Maybe . . . I dunno. I liked the room I had now. It was not only very classy, but – hmm, I dunno.

Once there, Jesse was pretty much dragging me along. He sat me on the bed, and then carefully prodded the area around the graze on my head. 'It's not as bad as it looks,' he concluded after his poking session.

'Well, that's a relief,' I said sarcastically.

He smiled slightly. 'It will not take long to heal, Susannah. I'm sure that in no time, the skin will be smooth enough for you to continue applying your paints.'

'Hello? It's called _liquid foundation_,' I rolled my eyes, 'God, when were you born, 1820 or something?'

His smile widened a little more. 'Very funny, Susannah. Give me one moment, I will not be long in returning – '

I hesitated. I mean . . . what if Robin had heard what Bart had said, and was now pissed off at him, and was therefore pissed off at me, and there was a lot of pissiness flying around, and the moment Jesse scampered off, he made his big entrance, and kicked some more crap out of my near-crapless self?

'Um – ' I began, but Jesse assured me that he would literally only be about three seconds. 'I'm counting,' I warned.

He dematerialized in a haze of twinkling purple-blue.

Those three seconds took a long time. Not really, just it seemed like it, because there was a sudden heavy silence in my room. Like there was breathing . . .

Oh, that was me.

But he was back, then, with a Handy Dandy first aid kit.

'Four seconds,' I chided. 'You're late, de Silva.'

'My apologies, _senorita_.' He sat down beside me on my bed, and told me to lay my head back on the pillows so the blood wouldn't run any more than it had. I shut my eyes tiredly. Then he set to work on my forehead, dabbing ever so carefully at the blood with a bit of cloth. I only flinched the first few times, before I learnt to deal. He really was so gentle. And he totally knew what he was doing.

Without really thinking what I was saying, I said softly, 'You should have been a doctor or something, you know.'

I opened my eyes, and saw he had a grim little smile on his face. 'Funny you should say that,' he said. 'That was _exactly _what I would have liked to be. Well, had it not been for my duties on the ranch. Medicine has always fascinated me, and I've always shown great interest in mending the injuries of my family. There were always accidents on the ranch. And I – ' he stopped, and then said no more on the subject.

'Well, you would make a great doctor,' I assured him, keeping it in the present tense purposely, and closing my eyes once more.

Upon finishing, his fingers lingered on my forehead for a moment, before sliding down my cheek and then cupping my chin. He seemed so peaceful. His touch was still like a feather brushing indolently over my sensitive skin. My lips parted, and I tilted my face into his hand ever so slightly, and gave the tiniest sigh.

His hand moved away gradually, and yet again, I exposed my emerald greens. His eyes had the most tormented look in them. Just for a moment . . . one single moment of vulnerability, where his emotions were on display for my scrutiny. But that moment passed, and his eyes regained their dark, mysterious mistiness.

Damn.

'Rest,' he ordered me, 'You're tired.'

I'd actually gotten enough sleep last night. I mean, after all the crying. But I guess that had taken a lot out of me, as well as the fact that my head now sported a big fat head injury. And Paul always drained me of all energy that I had. It was exhausting just to think about him. So yeah, I was a little sleepy.

But, you know, I didn't NEED to sleep.

Hence, the beginning of 'I'm fi – '

'No,' Jesse put his foot down. Not literally, just, you know, he was being firm about it. In a nice way. 'Susannah, rest.'

With a grumble, I pushed back the covers, and slipped under them, flopping my head on the mattress.

And surprisingly, I fell asleep within the first five minutes, because I really WAS tired, as well as damned hungry, because I hadn't actually HAD any breakfast.

Thanks to a certain lawyer.

- 8 -

One thing I forgot to pack when I went back to California was an alarm clock. Not that I needed it much anyway, due to the fact just the warm rays of the sun were enough to awake me in the mornings. But since this wasn't the morning anymore, I was apparently being awoken from my much needed beauty sleep by another means.

Shaking.

Hmph. Given the choice, I would have continued sleeping forever. Or at least until the Fortunashwein mystery was solved and the rescheduled reunion takes place and I could go back to my life in Boston, leaving behind all the loose strings and broken things of the past. Once back in Boston I'd go back to my apartment, lock all my doors and windows, and go back to sleep.

But what choice did I have when I was being SHAKEN? At first, I tried to ignore it, but the shaking just kept getting more and more urgent. I tossed the covers back in agitation, about to ask what the HELL was more important that some much-needed shut eye, when the offender caught my eye.

And with a roll of my eyes, my head plunged back underneath the covers.

I'd rather sleep and have a thousand more nightmares about Cole than wake up and face such a man-bitch as Paul Slater.

YEAH.

THAT was who was shaking me.

I didn't stay under the covers for long because that's when Paul literally RIPPED the covers back down determinedly.

'Hey!' I shouted in protest, 'What gives?'

'We need to talk,' Paul replied, the urgency evident not only in his tone, but in the seriousness of his expression.

Talk. TALK? What else could Paul Slater have to say to ME? I think he made his opinion of me – that I'm nothing more than a ghostie-entertainer (if you know what I mean) – PERFECTLY clear the night before. What now? Did he forget to mention some other pathetic thing?

And what about the whole cover-snatching thing? Totally uncalled for. I mean, I could have been NAKED under there for Christ's sake.

Not that I would sleep alone and naked in a room when three (Bartie doesn't count) vicious and not to mention horny ghosts were after me. I'm not a total dunce.

But still. He should consider that possibility. Oh, but we're talking about PAUL here. He's anything BUT considerate.

God, my shoulder was aching. And my stomach. And my HEAD.

'You didn't have to do that,' I groaned. 'I was perfectly awake. I just don't want to talk to you right now. Buh-bye now, Paulie.'

Paul didn't beat around the bush. This was obviously important to him. Completely ignoring me, he went on to say, 'Jesse told me about what happened.'

. . . I blinked.

And blinked again . . . once more just to make sure he truly realized that I was BLINKING, and then I'm sure I turned beet red.

Oh crap. Just what I needed. ANOTHER weakness unveiled as if Paul himself were ripping the covers off of it, too.

Paul stared at me, waiting for my response. I didn't respond, however. I just sat there, wishing I could have the covers back so I could crawl back inside and hide again. Only, in order to do that I'd actually have to take them away from Paul. I couldn't do that. I couldn't even stand to look at him, much less have any other sort of interaction besides my hostile remarks.

'So I guess you came to rub it in,' I snipped. 'How pathetic I am, I mean. I already know, so just back off, okay?'

Paul glared at me impatiently for a moment and then said, 'You _are_ pathetic.'

Ouch. That was a low blow, even if it was partly set up by me. My confidence was already shot to hell anyway, but I think Paul's ammunition was strong enough to bring it there and back.

As much as I hate to say, my heart kind of stung. Lately, Paul hadn't been censoring his thoughts about me much. He just spouted them off freely. And I guess I deserved it. But OUCH.

'You ARE pathetic, Suze,' he repeated, this time with much more emphasis. 'I don't know what's happened to you over the past five years, but the Suze I knew back then was so different.'

I mumbled, 'I don't feel any different.'

I really didn't. I mean, despite the hair and the more common occurrence of bruises on my body, I was still the exact same Suze. No better. Worse, but no better.

'Trust me. The Suze I knew five years ago was confident. She never let anyone boss her around or tell her what to do –'

'That is, until she got employed.'

Paul threw down the wad of covers in his hand angrily and said, voice raised, 'And you know what? She'd never let herself get _thrown around _by some ghosts. _Ever_. What happened to her, Suze?'

I was surprised at Paul. He was actually yelling at me. Which didn't help matters much, because I already felt so low. I kept trying to think of something smart to say to rebuild my pedestal, but each and every time Paul would get his giant wrecking ball and smash it to pieces.

Giant wrecking ball. That might be a little TOO optimistic.

See? There I go again. I really couldn't help it, though.

I didn't know Paul was going to be so blunt about pointing it out to me. You know, about my patheticness. I couldn't give him a straight answer right away.

Paul looked at me with impatience and disgust. 'Look at yourself,' he demanded, still yelling, 'look at yourself and then tell me that you're different. You weren't afraid of ANYTHING, Suze. And now you're a COWARD. A coward and a pushover.'

Please still be asleep. Please still be asleep. Please let this be one of the bad dreams that plague me when I sleep.

Because, seriously. This was not a very nice thing to hear.

That I was a coward.

. . . It wasn't my fault.

Just . . . things had happened, and – I dunno, I had just stopped fighting after a while. It had all gotten too hard.

Life had.

And you know the worst thing?

I _definitely_ knew he was right about this one.

That whore crack that he made had been rude, and demeaning. But I knew in my heart that I was not like that. I was not a tease, or a slut, I didn't dress like that or act like that. Maybe to PAUL I did. But . . . he didn't – okay, _shouldn't_ – matter.

But with this?

He was right.

This is what I was now. This useless, scrawny human being with no direction, and no zest for life. And one with no motivation to fight for it when it was threatened.

. . . My life, I mean.

And as HUMILIATING as it is to say, I knew very well that my eyelids were about to spill. You know . . . the choking of the throat, the itching of the nose, the tensing of the body . . .

I couldn't cry in front of him.

It just stung so badly that he was saying it to my face. Pointing out the flaw that I thought NO ONE would be bold enough to point out.

' . . . _I know_,' I whispered.

Paul's expression softened as he gently sat on the edge of my bed. He placed his hand down on the center of the bed and leaned forward on it, gazing at me with his laser-sharp eyes.

'Then change it,' he said.

I looked down at his hand. It was still as tan as I remember from long ago. Who knew lawyer-types still had time to visit the club for a round of golf or tennis or croquet or whatever they play?

And not to mention, his hand still looked strong. You know, like they still held the iron-grasp potential. Especially since I saw the muscle that strong-looking hand was attatched to.

SOMEONE'S been eating their Wheaties.

But no matter how I thought his hands looked (how did I get on THAT subject?), I still didn't trust him. I wanted to tell him that changing isn't as easy as it looks. It takes will power and determination and all that other good stuff. Good stuff a _coward_ like me just doesn't have

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. 'But how?' I asked flatly.

Paul's expression changed again, this time from soft to- I don't know- mischievous. He flashed his perfectly political smile and replied, 'I'm so glad you asked, Miss Simon.'

Uh oh. The way he said that, coupled with his used car salesman grin did not sound good. And it wasn't just because I got a chill when he called me "Miss Simon". The tone was dripping with a brewing antic.

'Your problem,' he began, all business-like, 'is that you have this remarkable amount of potential, but your inner inhibitions about your abilities put up a wall that stops you from living up to it. You've lost all confidence and, consequently, you are afraid of failure.'

HEY. I thought _I_ was the psychology major here.

And the whole confidence thing? Yeah, that was mostly HIS fault. Maybe if he laid off me a bit with the whole "SUZE IS A SLUTTY COWARD" thing, then maybe things would change. If I got out of this stinking school with its ghosts, and found a way to make Cole turn into pudding, THEN we'd be getting somewhere. Oh, and if I could just find a way to properly mediate a ghost without them attempting to either beat me up or get in my pants.

Paul just doesn't know what he's up against.

'Goodie. So what am I supposed to do?' I crossed my arms. I was now getting ever so slightly annoyed. I mean, when you think about it, he was right, but really, some of these things WERE his fault. And he had the nerve to be pointing them out, no problem.

He smiled. He looked like he'd got a load off his chest, actually. Apparently my patheticness had been pissing him off. Well, that's just GREAT to know.

'We'd better start up those shifting lessons again, don't you say?'

. . . That was the LAST thing I'd been expecting him to say.

After a moment of astonishment, I was like, ' . . .huh?'

He angled his face so he was looking down at me again. 'You know. Like old times. You, me, and the great power of shifting. Except I'm not going to bore you with any more theory, Suze. We're going to move right into the practice. If we don't . . . you're going to get yourself killed.'

'Thanks,' I said sarcastically. Biting words seemed the only way to cover how uncomfortable I was feeling.

He raised his eyebrows. 'You know what? Under normal circumstances, I'd give you the choice. Not that I did last time,' he added with a smirk, 'But this time, I'm making you do this. Because seriously, you'll end up dead in a matter of days if you don't start discovering the things that you're really capable of, and learn to defend yourself. I don't mean with fists. I mean, _our_ way.'

'Cryptic, much?' I said. Then I sighed, and rolled back over. 'I'll think about it.'

No.

Done thinking. I would NOT torture myself THAT much. You know . . . giving Paul the opportunity to belittle me just a bit more than usual. That was like, ego-suicide or something.

'No, Suze,' he said angrily, and his hand came heavily on my shoulder, whipping me back to face him. Unfortunately, um, that happened to be the shoulder that Robin had twisted his foot on. So it was no mystery to me when a sharp yelp burst out of me. Paul stopped. 'Are you h – '

'I'm fine,' I said quickly. More evidence of how much I sucked –

'Let me see,' he said.

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No.'

'Show me.'

'_No_.'

'I'll tell them about Cole Kennedy,' he hissed at me.

I froze. That was LOW. He was BLACKMAILING me. This was like the Jesse thing, all over again. He had something on me, and was using it to his advantage. No matter where I was, Paul Slater was always three steps ahead of me.

By "them," he meant CeeCee and Adam. And probably Dani, too.

. . . They _couldn't_ know.

I just stared at him in disgust for a moment, before I gave up. I very gingerly tugged down the neck of my sweater. It was a loose-ish neck, so it stretched over my shoulder and all. It was just my beige bra strap that was making me most paranoid.

However, I think that my shoulder was pretty distracting from any of my revealed undergarments.

On the top of my shoulder, you know, at the start of my armpit, was a swollen, very sickly dark purple mark that stained my skin. I swore. 'Whoa, no wonder my shoulder hurt.'

I looked up at Paul, and saw that his face was well on its way to contorting into an ugly look. 'What else did they do?' he asked in what he must have thought was a light tone.

'Um,' I said. Okay, this was embarrassing. 'My, er, head.'

'What happened?'

'The Misfortunates did it – '

'I meant, specifically.'

'Oh,' I said. I went a horrible shade of red, one that was about as attractive as my very stunning shoulder. I brought the neck of my sweater above my shoulder again, just blinking a lot. 'Er, well . . . Robin shoved me against a wall.'

Which was a version, of the truth, I guess. I mean, "Robin repeatedly smashed my skull against the door," sounded kind of heavy. Even if it WAS true.

It had been so damned scary . . .

Paul looked grim. 'Right,' he said. 'Is that all they did?'

'What is this?' I snapped, 'Spanish Inquisition?'

'That would be de Silva's territory,' he answered.

Oh yeah . . . hah, I guess it would.

Paul stood up. 'We'll do it now,' he said.

HUH?

'DO WHAT?' I squeaked in alarm.

His smirk went wry. 'Shifting lesson, Suze,' he informed me. At that moment he still looked a little mad. His hangover was probably still bothering him.

How could he ACT like that? With me, I mean. Like he HADN'T stolen half of my self-esteem the night before? Was this all a joke to him? Me? Was I something that only existed to him, so he could see all the different possible reactions he could get from one girl?

It was sick.

'Right,' I said, and climbed out of bed after long last. 'Whatever. I'll meet you downstairs or something, I just need to get something to eat, I didn't have breakfast – ' because of you ' –so – '

'I'll come,' he shrugged. 'Haven't eaten for about four hours.'

Oh, let us sing praises.

Not.

'Right,' I mumbled again, this time with less gusto. 'Okay . . . '

And ten minutes later, I was making pitiful salad sandwiches. You know, just tomatoes, lettuce, cheese and mayo. Oh, and pepper for Paul. Apparently, he loved pepper.

. . . Um, good for him.

Prior to sandwich making, I was just standing in the kitchen eating the fruit of my labour. Paul was there too, but we weren't exactly talking. It still felt . . . I dunno. _Inappropriate_, for me to even be in his presence. I mean, honestly. Why would he want someone like me there? Eating a sandwich, no less. I mean, sandwiches are, like, the most embarrassing food you could ever eat in front of someone because you have to open your mouth really wide to take a bite, and sometimes stuff falls out of the end. They're just messy.

'Hey Suze?' Paul asked suddenly, putting the salad sandwich down for a moment.

I looked up at him from my food and went, 'Hmm?' like I was casually interested, when in fact I couldn't help but wonder what he was going to drop on me this time. You know, shifting apocalypse, or something weird and wacky, like we could go back and forth in time or something. Haha, wouldn't that be WEIRD?

(A/N: Twilight never happened.)

Or maybe he was like, terminally ill. Maybe he had testicular cancer.

'You have mayo on your chin.'

I rest my case. About sandwiches being embarrassing, I mean.

I sicced my napkin on the glob on my chin immediately, hoping speedy cleanup would make up for my lack of grace in dining. God, could I make a bigger fool of myself?

I betcha he doesn't ever have to tell Dani she has mayo on her chin. Dani probably doesn't eat mayo or anything for that matter. I bet she never has to worry about food stains on her clothes. Her dry cleaning bill must be _tiny_.

'Right,' I said when I was mayo-less. He, of course, was eating with his impeccable Slater perfection. And of course, those Slaters can't POSSIBLY slip up. I mean . . . they were _Slaters_. Screw up the family reputation, why don't they?

Gah. They weren't even Slaters, though. The whole lot of them were Slaskis.

But who gave a flying poopie?

Since Paul had two sandwiches as opposed to my one, he was taking slightly longer. But then again, I was up to the second half of mine, and he was on his last half. So whatever.

'I poisoned that bit,' I said randomly as he took a huge bite. The split second of hesitation I got was well worth it. Then he proceeded chewing, and grinned at my sarcastically.

Oh, if only he had a bit of lettuce in his teeth or something . . . gah.

I was just polishing off mine, when who should burst into the kitchen but Miss United Kingdom herself.

'Paulie!' she said, taking no notice of me leaning opposite him, 'I woke up, and you weren't there!'

'It's one in the afternoon, Dani,' he replied dryly. 'I got up five hours ago.'

Dani didn't look all that flash then. She had no make up on whatsoever, and . . . well, to be frank, looked kind of . . .

Um, shit.

She turned a little, and saw me. Well, not saw. I mean, she'd noticed me before. But now she planned to mention me in the conversation or something, so my presence had to be known for insults sake or something, probably.

'Why are you eating lunch with her?' she asked at him. 'Is that mayonnaise even fat free?'

'Nup,' I said. 'Full of fattiness.'

She looked appalled at Paul. 'Did she make it for you?'

Paul shrugged. 'Yeah.'

I stared at him. This was weird. What? Does Dani think that a girl making a sandwich for her boyfriend automatically means that he's having an affair with said girl?

. . . HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I didn't exactly want to say all that much more. Because it had suddenly dawned on me. In between Dani screaming out in pleasure during her and Paul's possible night of kinky sex, had he mentioned to her what he'd said to me at the club?

If so . . . God, that was humiliating.

And knowing PAUL, he probably had.

Although, Dani was showing no sign of knowing what her boyfriend thought of me, so maybe he'd kept his opinion to himself.

I mean, he didn't exactly go broadcasting the kiss we'd shared a long time ago. That would lead to suspicions on Dani's part. And God help us if she thought that Paul still harboured feelings for me, or something. Eww.

Dani smiled sardonically at me. 'Well,' she said. 'Someone obviously neglected her Maybelline this morning.'

LOOK WHO'S TALKING, FUGLY.

I gave her a weird look, as did Paul. Dani had obviously not caught sight of the scarlet mushroomy growth that was floating around her head.

'Well, we can't all look like a cover girl,' I said sweetly.

Her eyes went cold. 'So,' she said in a completely different tone. It sounded like it was forced casualness. 'What have you been doing for . . . five hours, Paul?' She shot me a brief glare, before eyeing Paul with a snake-like look.

Paul said, 'Just research. Cee thinks she's onto something in the library.' He kind of winced. It was obvious that CeeCee hadn't been treating him very nicely since last night. CeeCee's a smart girl. She probably knew that it had been because of Paul that I'd left. She probably just didn't know WHAT he'd said to me.

Thank God.

'What's she – ' I began, but Dani cut me off as if I hadn't been talking. 'OH,' she said. 'And . . . Sue was researching to?'

'Suze,' I said through gritted teeth.

Paul's face cracked into an evil grin. 'Nah,' he said, 'Suze was busy doing other things.'

_Namely getting her ass kicked,_ his eyes said.

'Like?' Dani persisted. God. Why did she had to be so tall? Six feet of femme fatale. With OUT make up on. She was SCARY.

'Sleeping,' I said quickly. 'I was sleeping.'

'No, she means before that,' Paul assured me with a glint in his icy eyes. 'Poor Suze got assailed by our resident ghosts. Well . . . besides de Siva,' he added with a smirk.

I gave him a cold look. Thanks, Paul.

Dani looked pretty delighted. 'Oh, you poor thing,' she cooed. 'Maybe you should go sleep some more.'

'Nah, you've done enough sleeping for the both of us,' I said carelessly.

'Yeah, I told Suze that she'd better start working on her defenses,' Paul went on, digging me deeper into my pathetic hole, 'So we're gonna go learn some – '

That "we" obviously caught Dani's attention. 'You're going to what?' she asked sharply.

Paul hesitated. He knew he'd made a mistake. 'Uh, shifting lessons. I'm gonna teach her now to NOT get her ass kicked,' he said.

'Powers?' she asked curiously.

'Yes,' said Paul.

Her face went stony. 'You never teach _me_ any powers,' she said bitterly.

'That's because you're just a mediator,' I told her. She shot me an acidic look. 'Shut up, Sue,' Dani snapped rudely. 'No one asked you.'

I blinked. 'Okaaaaaaaaaay,' I mumbled. I started putting like, the lettuce and tomatoes and stuff away.

Dani went on talking to PMS in a would-be calm tone. 'So,' she said, her voice quite high, but deep at the same time. Dunno how that works, but yeah. 'You're . . . doing what? Telling her how to do things?'

'No,' Paul said calmly. He obviously realized he was in the shit. 'I'm showing her.'

And you know what? He was screwed. Why couldn't I make him more screwed.

'Yeah,' I said, 'It'll be more _hands on_, compared to last time we did these lessons, right Paul?'

He threw me a shut-the-hell-up-she's-already-mad-at-me look, one for which my care factor was zilch.

Suffice it to say, Danielle Moore was not all comforted by that news. She gave Paul the strangest look. 'When you're teaching her . . .these powers,' she shrugged, sounding overly offhand, 'I think I'll join you. Just to, you know, watch. And offer advice to Sue. And emotional support. Heaven knows that it must be _horrible_ to have been beaten by those nasty little eighteen year olds,' her speech finishing in a spiteful tone.

I pursed my lips. 'Of course you can come,' Paul smiled at her, shooting a nasty look at me.

Oh great. Bulimic Bitch of Britain and her butt monkey want to gang up on me.

Like the Misfortunates.

Only I think that Dani and Paul will be even more unpleasant.

'You want something to eat?' Paul asked Dani.

Dani, for the first time, broke eye-contact with him. Her gaze flickered – YES. _FLICKERED_ – to mine, and then away. 'No,' she murmured, 'I'm not hungry.'

I kind of scoffed, but saw that Paul was actually giving her a very hard look.

Which got me wondering if there was, you know . . . something I was missing.

Whatever it was, Paul looked like he didn't want to push it since I was present.

'Fine,' he said stiffly.

- 8 -

Well, it's a truly wonderful feeling to know that you are SO simply pathetic, that the guy you mutually hate wishes to extend his all-powerful shifting knowledge so that you don't screw up again when ghost-busting. Really inspired some warm fuzzies, just knowing that I was apparently that helpless.

What actually WAS pretty funny was that it was quite obvious that Dani couldn't trust Paul for a second with another woman.

Seriously. Here's this model, going around and flaunting herself to everyone, 17+ with a Y chromosome, (dead or alive) and Paul just LOOKS at someone else (hatefully) and she thinks that he's going to leave her high and dry.

On second thought . . . I mean hypothetically, if that WASN'T Dani and Paul for a second, that is actually pretty sad.

No seriously. It is.

But since it _is_ Dani . . .

_**HA-HA.**_

You know, the Simpsons Nelson laugh.

HAHA. POINT AND LAUGH.

I still couldn't believe that Dani had called me fat last night. I mean, I kept in shape quite nicely, I thought. I exercised pretty much daily. Even here, I went for a run around lunchtime, past the little cemetery that was behind the school. Running was always uneventful, so I don't exactly broadcast it. But I DO that.

Maybe it was my lack of kickboxing.

But nah, I still looked good and stuff. I mean, as good as a _whore_ CAN look.

So what was her problem? I mean, it was HER that was too thin. I mean, Paul probably only liked her because she featured on a magazine cover. Seriously. Can you just picture in your minds, in an article in Cosmo, seeing the words, _"Bingo! Danielle Moore shines in her stunning halter-neck by Celine, hanging off the arm of hottie boyfriend Paul Slater,'_ partnered by a random shot of the two of them saying good lucks at Dani's latest skankfest?

Because seriously, I can. It's quite disgusting.

Paul is the type of guy who'd smirk smugly at the thought of being called a hottie. It would make him grin in a way that would say, "Yeah, I know . . . "

Also disgusting.

True, but – shut up.

So. Back to, you know, what actually was happening, not my stupid random musings.

We were in a classroom.

Yes. We were.

Fascinating, isn't it?

It must have been a classroom like – I dunno, a Literature classroom. There were all sorts of posters on the walls, you know, like Shakespearean play paintings, and . . . just lots of literature-y stuff.

Like a lot of the other classrooms (not all) all of the desks were pushed right to the back. That was where Dani went and sat. I plopped my butt on the floor under the blackboard, and I looked up at Paul expectantly. 'So,' I muttered, 'Any fascinating theorems from your notorious Dr. Slaski? Or did Pops take all your stuff away?'

Paul just smiled at me, you know, not in a friendly way, just . . . smiled. 'Stand up,' he said to me. I tossed Dani a look over my shoulder as I stood up. With apprehensive eyes, I said a very eloquent, 'Um.'

'What you got to know, Suze,' he said, standing tall and looking every bit the hot, arrogant, rich, condescending asshole that he was in his navy blue shirt and jeans, 'Is that, ultimately, whatever ghosts can do, shifters can do about twice as much.'

I'm sorry to say that I snorted.

'Yeah,' I said wryly, 'Right.'

His smile just got a little more mysterious. 'You think I'm joking,' he said. 'Well, poltergeist activity's very powerful, right? It can cause actual houses to fall apart, if the ghost's angry enough.'

'So?'

'Well, how do you think you made the chapel collapse back at JSMA?' he questioned.

I frowned, as I remembered what I done to Paul's ex minions . . . I'd made a multi-century old chapel just . . ._fall_ on them. Despite the fact that they were ghosts, I knew that they'd been affected by it, and were no longer on the realm of the living. I didn't know how, but somehow . . . I'd forced them into their next plane of existence.

'Exactly,' said Paul, seeing my expression.

'Can I do that?' Dani asked.

'No,' Paul said vaguely. 'So Suze, is there anything else you know you can do as a shifter?'

'Besides making buildings fall on your ex-minions?'

His smile faltered. Oooh, sorry. Touchy subject. 'Besides that.'

'Well,' I thought, 'As a shifter, I can . . . _shift._'

He raised his eyebrows. 'I mean, anything that you've discovered you can do, since the last lesson we had.'

'Exactly how many lessons did the two of you have?' Dani asked, but I just ignored her.

'Nothing,' I said embarrassedly.

Paul looked kind of stunned. 'You haven't picked up ANYTHING since then?' he asked in disgust.

I crossed my arms and leant against the blackboard, and looked around. 'Well . . . when I'm pissed off, I can make things move. Namely, blow up. You saw it yourself, that night – '

Don't ask.

He nodded in recognition. 'I remember,' he said dismissively. 'That's it?'

I rolled my eyes.

'Okay,' he said, with a long whistle. 'Well, you're screwed, aren't you?'

'How long would you say your lessons went for?' Dani asked, yet again to be ignored.

'Shut up,' I snapped at Paul. 'If you're not going to teach me anything, I may as well just – '

'Yes, Paul, she obviously isn't really committed to – '

'Shut up, the pair of you!' he growled. Dani sucked in sharply, and then narrowed her eyes at me. Paul turned to look right at me. 'Suze, if you _don't_ wanna learn this stuff, then get the hell out.'

I swear to God, I almost walked out of there. EVERYTHING was telling me to leave. Dani, Paul, previous night, my sore shoulder, my head, my bruised stomach, my past, my pain, my whorish-ness . . .

I glared at Paul stiffly, but didn't move a muscle.

'Good,' he said. His hair was starting to go curly, like it had been when he was eighteen. It was, of course, shorter and more professionally shaped now, but he needed a haircut, and the longer bits of hair were indeed curling. Like they did when his hair was wet, like after I got yanked under water by the Misforties at Fortunaschwein's lake. After we'd gotten out of the water, Paul's hair had been curly there too.

Which, you know, would have been cute if I hadn't hated him so much.

But I did.

So therefore, it was _so_ not cute.

'I've been dropping hints on you the entire time we've been here,' Paul began talking again. I don't know why, but the way he said that made me shiver. That was when I, you know, realized he was talking about shifting.

'Oh?'

'What do _you_ think?' he scoffed.

I looked up in contemplation. 'Materializing?' I suggested lamely.

'Paul's excellent at that,' Dani felt it was necessary to add.

I think that Paul was starting to regret allowing her to come along. She wasn't exactly going unnoticed. Even though she was being ignored.

Because we were still very aware that she was there.

It was _annoying_.

At least, for me.

For Paul, it was probably, oh, um, inconvenient.

'Materializing,' he echoed. And then, he gave me a wicked smirk, before evaporating completely in a haze of dark blue. I frowned, and scanned around –

'Boo,' he said in my ear from behind me.

Shut up. Of course I jumped. That had been what Robin had said to me, prior to beating me shitless. In a manner of speaking, anyway.

Dani had laughed a little too loudly, I think.

I half jerked away from him – Paul, not Dani, who is (I think) a woman – and glared. 'I can't do that,' I said.

I really couldn't. Even when I had been most scared in my life, I'd always been completely inept of materialization. I didn't know why. But it seemed to come naturally to Paul, and not to me.

Shifting was a piece of piss. Materializing just . . . I dunno. I couldn't do it. I'd never done it before.

'You can and you will,' he said. 'If you don't learn, then you're putting yourself in a lot of danger.

I'll say. I remembered how hard I'd tried to dematerialize when I was trapped under Cole's bed that night . . . how badly I'd wanted to go home, and how incapable I'd been of doing so. So much so that I'd been completely paralyzed with fear.

My skin prickled at the thought, and I shivered.

I think that Paul picked up on the vibes that I was sending out. Or at least that it had something to do with Cole, and violence. 'Hmm,' he said. 'You know what I mean, then.'

Yeah, only that time, I wasn't in danger because of the dead.

I brushed my hair off my face, and licked my lips. 'No, I really can't do it,' I insisted. 'I've like, tried heaps and heaps of times and even when I'm really worried that if I _don't_ materialize I will be totally screwed and even then I haven't been able to do and all I can manage to do is look kind of constipated or something and even though I'm visualizing the place that I want to be at I can't actually get there because I totally suck at all things materialize-y – '

'She talks fast, doesn't she?' Dani commented lightly. I turned to glare, and saw that she'd laid herself across the joint up desks, so she was on her back, her legs bent at the knees, with the left tossed sexily over the right. Her arm was above her head, and um . . . I think that she was actually _sticking_ her chest out.

Ewww. Too much posing for Gucci photo shoots.

With women like Danielle Moore here, it was a wonder that a girl like me got called the whore.

No, really. You have no idea how slutty she looked right then.

Paul, however, didn't think it was such a bad thing. He was smiling at her lightly. I doubt that he'd even heard what I'd said. And NOT because of my speed of talking.

Hmph.

'Paul?' I checked, to see if he was still with us, or if he was half-way through eye-raping his girlfriend.

He twisted his head back to me, and scowled at me. WHY? DID I INTERRUPT YOU MENTALLY UNDRESSING YOUR MODEL?

'You're just not trying hard enough,' he shrugged at me.

I think that under the circumstances of being possibly beaten up by a drunken twenty three year old man, I would be trying VERY hard to dematerialize. 'I am so,' I said hotly.

'Go now,' he instructed, and smirked. 'You remember how to do it?'

'Yes,' was my stubborn reply.

I closed my eyes nervously. I mean, I didn't feel all that comfortable doing so. I was totally expecting them both to yell "NOW!" and then push me into some booby trap, where they would laugh at me and poke me and – um, possibly delight in cannibalism.

. . . Okay, well, maybe just making funny faces at me while I wasn't looking.

OR RUDE FINGERS.

Whatever. With the blackness I saw behind my eyelids, I imagined Paul from the back. As in – no, NOT his butt – so I could dematerialize behind him.

I tried . . . triiiiiied . . .

No go.

I opened my eyes. 'See?' I snapped. 'Told you.'

Paul let out an exasperated sigh. 'Okay, let's try something simpler,' he suggested.

'Like what?' I asked, feeling pretty dumb as Danielle was witnessing my failure. I swear I heard some soft cackling coming from somewhere.

'We could try to develop your basic telekinetic skills.'

' . . . in English?'

'Telekinesis. You know, moving stuff with your mind,' Paul replied with another sigh.

'Okay.'

Score . . . this was going to be fun. I mean, not learning from Paul, but actually acquiring the ability. Now I can just chuck stuff at people when I'm annoyed with them, without even lifting a finger. I could totally see myself pelting Mr. Lowe, my old boss, with those little containers of half-and-half cream. You know, if I wasn't _fired_.

'We'll start off with something really small,' Paul said as he positioned himself behind the teacher's desk.

'You savings account doesn't count,' Dani sneered from her luxuriously relaxed position. I sent her a nasty glare. She looked like one of those Egyptian princesses they portray, laying down in the shade with hot muscular men fanning and feeding grapes to them right off the vine. Only, you know, the only guy in the room was Paul and he wasn't necessarily feeding her bite-sized fruit, but his eyes did wander distractedly over there a few times.

And, okay, Paul did look hot. I mean, he didn't look so bad since he was slowly but surely getting over his hangover. Somewhere between the time I was getting my ass kicked by the Misforts and the time I was awaken by Paul not too long ago, he'd found time to change out of his pajama pants and into something a little more stylish. Granted, it wasn't his normal nine-to-five wear complete with tie, but he still looked polished with a dark navy-blue pique stretch Lacoste polo and dark denim jeans. And since he didn't put any product in his hair, not only did his natural blonde highlights come out, but also his hair actually looked touchably soft. Like it would feel like cotton candy or something.

And what was with his cologne? I could smell it faintly every time he moved somewhere. It was a clean, masculine smell, but I couldn't quite pin its fragrance.

However, you know, due to the fact that I had been totally debased by this guy, his hotness was shadowed by how much I truly hated him.

Paul plucked an old dusty pencil from the teacher's, brushed it off a bit, and placed it in the palm of his hand. 'Try this,' he said. 'Just breathe deeply and focus on the pencil. Now, imagine a line . . . a line of energy lifting the pencil up.'

I sniggered. Sorry.

I just got a mental picture of _Paul,_ _line dancing._

No idea how . . .

But HAHAHAHAHA.

'Concentrate, or I won't bother,' Paul warned yet again.

I sighed.

'She couldn't make it float any more than she could lose weight,' Dani said under her breath.

I whipped my head back to her, saw one of the Shakespearean posters that was above her, and I completely blew up.

. . . the poster, that is.

It burst into flames. You know, like spontaneous combustion. Only, I kind of doubted it was all that spontaneous.

Dani screamed and rolled gracelessly off of the desk, as the fire burnt the poster, and turned it to ash right before my eyes.

'YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!' she screeched at me, 'YOU COULD HAVE GOT ME!'

That was the general idea.

'Actually,' I said, stunned, 'It was an accident. I didn't – I didn't know I could do – '

Dani discovered a black smudge that had gotten on her top, and she shrieked again. In utter fury, she tore out of the room, possibly for the bathroom or someplace to remove the mark.

And then, it was just me and Paul.

Reluctantly, I turned around to face him.

"BLAH, BLAH. YOU SUCK, SUZE. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT. DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU COULD HAVE MELTED THE PLASTIC COATING ON MY GIRLFRIEND'S SKIN?"

Can't you see it now? Dani melting down like a Barbie, I mean.

"I'M MEEEEEEELTING! OH, WHAT A WORLD, WHAT A WORLD . . . "

'I seriously didn't mean to – '

'That was pretty good, actually,' he said. Paul looked pretty impressed.

. . . Huh?

'I almost killed your –' skanky ' – girlfriend,' I said flatly.

He rolled his eyes. 'Fire that weak wouldn't have reached her. It went out straight away. You panicked, and didn't keep it going. And plus, you aimed at something flammable, the most basic thing. But still, you did it,' he shrugged.

'Only because I was pissed off,' I mumbled.

'Well, as a beginner, that's where you can draw your power from,' he told me.

'Pissed-offedness?'

'No,' he said. 'Emotion.'

' . . . Oh.'

Okay. This was weird.

'Um,' I went on.

He was obviously enjoying this. You know, knowing things that I didn't. Having more power over me.

Just to add to the rest.

'Well, you strike me as the emotional type,' he said sarcastically. Which was not to say that he didn't mean what he'd said. I mean . . . you know. He was trying to taunt me again. Gah. I hate him. Then, he did actually go serious. Gah. Still hate him. 'When I say emotion, Suze, I mean . . . emotion can fuel power. Anger . . . pain . . . '

Oh, I was so gonna kick ass.

I didn't know anyone who felt more of those two things than me.

Was _that_ why he –

. . . Nah. God, too complicated. I mean, he wouldn't do that just for the purpose of some lesson. That was _cruel_.

Paul WAS cruel, though.

. . . No. He called me that because he truly thinks me as that. NOT because he was trying to provoke me into being angry, so I'd achieve something now?

No. Too many things would have had to fall into place for him to have asked me to do these lessons. He would have had to know that the Misfortunates were going to have a go at me.

THE SLATER CONSPIRACY! AAAAAAAAAH!

Definitely not. I was a whore to him. He did not call me that for . . . _performance enhancement_ or something.

. . . Ewww. Eww, Suze.

I blinked, and looked away. 'Right. Okay . . . so – um . . . what do I do?'

He turned away from me, and my eyes, WITH A MIND OF THEIR OWN, dragged themselves from his feet, up his legs, past his butt, up his back, across his shoulders, along his neck, through his hair, down his arms, and to his hands.

Whoa. Paul has big hands.

No, really, he does.

Nice and big. Good for strangling people.

When he turned back to me, his icy eyes looked like they'd planned something. He moved to the other side of the classroom, grabbed one of the wooden chairs that was stacked, and then he put it in the center of the room.

'Okay,' he said, rubbing his very large hands together. 'Burn it.'

I laughed. 'Oh. Right. And how the hell do I do that?'

'Easy. Focus on it . . . and will it to burn.'

I focused on it. And willed it to burn.

. . . come on . . . come on, burn . . . COME ON . . . BURN FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

'It didn't burn,' I informed him.

'I know it didn't burn,' he informed me. 'Because you didn't care.'

'Oh, I'm supposed to care now, am I?' I snapped. 'Paul, stop messing around. Just tell me how to do it first off, not wait for me to mess around first.'

'Tell you how to do it? Mess around first? Why Suze, it sounds as if you are referring to foreplay,' he gave me a wicked smirk.

Shifting foreplay. Oh, GOODIE.

I gave him my most unattractive look, and he chuckled, before crossing his arms coolly. 'Get mad,' was all he said.

'What?'

'You heard me. That's all you need to do. Focus . . . get mad . . . and will the wood to burn.'

Um, how about no? What did the _chair_ ever do to _me_, huh?

I raised my eyebrows. This felt very Harry Potter-ish for some reason. Ugh. Okay, mad, mad, mad. When have I been mad?

What has made me REALLY pissed off?

I mean, r –

'_Simon, shut it. No excuses, this time.'_

'_I can't have you risking the image of Starbucks, and as manager I feel I have a duty to nip this in the bud.' _

'_This is your two-weeks notice . . . But I want you gone by tomorrow.'_

Shunted off . . . by that stupid bastard . . . that asshole, who thought that he was better than me . . . oh, just FIRE the poor, penniless, loser why don't you? Make my life that LITTLE bit harder? Thanks a BUNCH MR. LOWE–

And with that, the chair burst into flames.

Holy crap.

I blinked several times in succession, as the fire started dying down –

'Keep it lit,' Paul snapped at me. 'Don't let it go out. Stay mad.'

'_You're a whore, Suze . . . you're Jesse's whore . . . '_

It burnt brighter.

'_You stupid BITCH. Don't you DARE leave. You're PATHETIC, Susie . . . you're a dirty, worthless loser, and I'm the only one that could _ever_ want someone like _you_ – '_

The fire started spreading across the panels of wood on the floor. Orange, hot, murderous, consequential of my fury.

'_I'll kill you, you mediator! You mean nothing to anyone! If I killed you, no one would even care that you left this sad earth . . . And you know I'm right, don't you? DON'T YOU?'_

Brighter, angrier . . . it began spreading across the floor even more. Towards where I stood –

'Um, Suze?'

'_I'm ashamed of you, Susannah. I hung around for so long, watching you, making sure you were all right, watching out for you – '_

'I DON'T NEED YOU, DAD! JUST GET OUT OF MY LIFE_!'_

The fire went mad. It had almost devoured the back half of the room. And I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was lost. I was lost, in anger, and pain.

'Suze, stop it!'

Hopelessly, desperately lost . . .

'_I guess you won't leave our school without a fight, Susie . . . You want a fight? You just got one.'_

The licking flames started coming at me, charring the wood in that flammable Literature room very quickly. I couldn't get out of the place that Paul had forced me to enter. I couldn't. I was banging and screaming and kicking, trying to get out. But I was stuck, locked in . . . and I couldn't move, and rage and agony were seeking to burn me alive –

That's when Paul jumped at me, knocking the both of us flat against the floor.

The jolt scared me, and the fire in the room evaporated just like that.

The cool thing was . . . Paul couldn't technically yell at me, right? I mean, it had SO been his fault that I'd done that. He'd underestimated how much _pain and anger_ I was drawing my powers from. His bad, not mine.

Sure, I almost just got the both of us killed.

Meh. Occupational hazard.

So there I was, lying face-first on the floor, Paul lying on my back, in a room that was now smokin'.

Thanks to my seriously fucked up life.

I was breathing hard, and I was shaking. Why? Why was I breathing hard? SHAKING? What did I just do? What had I almost DONE? Why hadn't I been able to stop?

Paul spun me around so I was facing him. I had nothing to say. I mean, I had LOTS to say, but nothing that would COME OUT OF MY MOUTH, DAMN IT.

'I didn't – I didn't realize,' he said in what sounded like a very SLIGHTLY apologetic tone. 'Suze – you were supposed to draw power from pain. Not be consumed by it.'

I just stared up at him.

I think that he was starting to really appreciate who I _was_ now. How deeply I'd fallen.

. . . Or, um, staring with wide-eyes at my stomach.

Without hesitation, he pushed up my shirt and cursed loudly as he uncovered the hideous blue-black bruise on my stomach, given to me earlier compliments of Robin Lawrence.

'You didn't tell me about this one,' Paul said lightly after his initial shock.

'Oh, this one? I hardly knew it was there,' I lied, looking away awkwardly.

Damn. There was nothing left of that chair except for a small pile of ashes. Even the ground looked a little scorched. Maybe I got a little too-

'AHH-OW,' I cried as Paul lightly touched my stomach.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked, continuing to poke at it more.

WHAT WAS HE, A SADO_MASOCHIST_?

'GET OFF,' I shrieked at him, more in pain than in anger. But I will admit, I was pretty darn close to torching his cotton-candy hair because what he was doing hurt so much. It was like he didn't care if he was causing me physical pain.

'Suze-'

'I SAID GET THE HELL OFF.'

I rolled him off of me with strength I never knew I had and stood up, pushing my sweater back down.

Paul got up, stood behind me, and asked me again, 'Why didn't you tell me?' This time, he sounded really angry.

My hair swished at my elbows as I turned around to face him again, my face flushed in fury.

HE had no _reason_ to be angry at me. If anything, I had every right to be mad at HIM. He blackmailed me once again into doing shifting lessons again, he pried into MY business, poked my bruises, and he still had the NERVE to be furious at ME.

Why didn't I tell him, he asks? That's simple . . .

'I figured you wouldn't care about some stupid whore,' I hissed bluntly.

And with that, I exited the classroom without looking back.

He called after me, but I let him be. He could burn . . . burn like hell just as I scorched that chair earlier, and I wouldn't give a shit.

Paul had no concept of pain. To him, it was just a tool he used for power. That's how everything was for him, just another way to get to the top.

Get mad, he told me. Like throwing those emotions back into the picture wouldn't do anything. He said it like it was completely harmless, like it wouldn't affect me. But it DID.

Just like poking my stomach brought back the pain from Robin kicking me there.

What kind of pain had HE gone through? Obviously nothing of great-magnitude, or else he would know just how hard getting mad would be for me. What fueled his fire, so to speak?

God. I didn't care. I really didn't.

I was FURIOUS at him. Seriously. I had been BLACKMAILED. And that's all there was to it.

Why was it that he always had something on me? Last time it was Jesse. And now it was Cole.

It wasn't long before I turned up at the library, where Adam and CeeCee were lounging. Well, you know, they were on one of the comfier looking couches, with Adam in the back of it, and CeeCee leaning back into him, reading. Well, she was. Adam looked prone to snoring any second now. But still, it was kind of sweet seeing them all cozy like that.

'Hey,' CeeCee said brightly at me upon my entrance.

'Hmm,' I grunted at her, and flopped into one of the plush green chairs, and gave a huge, hard-done-by sigh.

She detected frustration, and closed her book that she was reading. 'Okay, what?'

Adam must have been half asleep, because he hadn't moved. 'Nothing,' I said shortly. 'What you up to?'

'No, seriously, what? You look like you just found out you only have four hours to live. Oh, and we heard about the ghost attack, didn't we Adam?'

He didn't respond. Well, he kind of did. But I don't think that, 'Yeah . . . marshmallow . . . ' had anything to do with what Cee said.

Mmm . . . marshmallows . . .

Yeah.

She rolled her eyes, and looked back at me, still looking quite relaxed. 'What happened?'

'I pissed them off, I paid for it,' I said simply.

'Is that why you're all grouchy?' she asked.

'Um . . . yeah.'

Good cover, Susie.

'Right,' she said slowly. Her white hair fell in her eye, and she brushed it out irritably. 'So. I wanted to tell you something. You know, before Paul. Frankly, I am starting to see why you don't exactly like him.'

'Aaah, child, thank you for returning from the Dark Side,' I said graciously.

She mumbled in agreement. 'He had no reason to treat you like that, last night. Even me and Adam noticed what he was doing. When he danced with me, though, all he talked about was you.'

I raised my eyebrows, my stomach flitting in panic. 'Oh?'

_. . . Did he mention Cole? _

'Yeah,' she said. 'Just subtly saying stuff.'

'What stuff?' I asked quickly.

'It doesn't matter,' she said in a tone that made it sound all you-don't-wanna-know, or something. 'But I gave him a good telling off.' She laughed. 'He's just a jerk-off. Him and Dani deserve each other.'

'Where is she, anyway?'

She sniffed in disdain. 'Off exploring with Jesse, apparently. She went to go on her own – I think annoyed that you seem to find our ghosts all the time – and Jesse insisted on going with her, apparently.'

'You said apparently twice,' I observed.

'Yeah, well, I can't exactly see the guy. So I'm just taking it for granted that this stuff happened,' she muttered dryly.

'Okay, whatever. So what did you wanna tell me?'

She perked up, and rose up from her little loveseat. 'Glad you asked. Come here,' she motioned, as she sat in front of her laptop. Well, she didn't open it, but a little book next to it.

I obeyed, and crouched next to her. However, this served to be painful, due to my stomach being all pretty coloured, so I sat next to her, the way I was probably supposed to do in the first place.

Hmph. I just like to be different.

'Okay,' she said, and gave me a look that said, THIS-IS-SO-DAMNED-FASCINATING! 'Read this. I can't believe none of us noticed THIS before.'

She shoved the book under my nose, beaming whitely. I scanned down the page at where her pale finger was directing.

"_Deputy Headmistress: Mrs Karen La Rosa  
Headmaster: Richard Head._"

'What?' I asked.

She glared at me. 'RICHARD HEAD,' she half-shouted. 'Our EMPLOYER.'

Oh.

. . . OH!

I was shocked. I really was. MR DICKEDY-DICK-DOO WAS A PRINCIPAL? BUT PRINCIPALS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE NICE AND TALL AND SIXTY-FIVE AND PRIESTLY.

Well, okay, but NOT Mr Head.

I stared at CeeCee, my mouth open. 'How the HELL did _that_ man become principal?' I demanded.

'I dunno,' she said, 'Probably screwed someone in the education department. Whatever. The point, Suze, is that . . . well, Mr Head _definitely_ knows a lot more than he's letting on. I mean, yeah. He would have known these Misfortunate guys. And why the hell doesn't he want us to know that he was the principal?'

'Because we'd laugh at a guy called Mr Head being the _head_master?' I suggested.

She scowled. 'I'm serious. So yeah. That was a rhetorical question, by the way. So I did some background research on Mr Head. However, I didn't come up with much. Only that he's lived here his whole life with his family, his mother died from cancer or something, his dad was a banker, and that Dick's joined the family business now that his school isn't up and running anymore,' she said in disappointment. 'That's not much to go one. But I don't think that the guy's capable of more than being really, _really_ rude.'

'Yeah, he's a total stiff,' I agreed. 'Haha. Maybe he told the Misfortunates that they weren't graduating, and they all committed suicide, rather than being stuck here with _him_ for another year.'

She didn't look too humoured. She looked like she was still thinking. After a moment, she shrugged. 'I dunno. It just seemed like a big deal when I found it. I guess it wasn't that important. But maybe we should go ask him again about the ghosts, and you know, if he knew them.'

'Maybe one of them's his lovechild,' I gasped dramatically.

She laughed. 'Okay, okay. Whatever.'

'No . . . not avacadoes,' said Adam sleepily, as he turned over and flopped on his stomach on the couch.

That was when Jack came into the library. He took one look at me, and dashed over, grabbing my hands. 'Suze! I'm so sorry about before! I didn't mean to say anything bad, I didn't – sorry that I – Jesse said that you got hurt by the ghosts, and I'm – '

Wow. The kid talks almost as fast as me when he's freaked.

Aww.

I smiled weakly, and rumpled his un-Paul-like hair. Jack's was even MORE curly. 'Dude, I'm fine. And I'm sorry about before. Your brother's giving me a hard time. I was worried that he'd told you to do the same.'

'What's Paul saying to you?' he asked curiously.

'Wouldn't you like to know,' I responded, feeling weary. 'The plus side is, I almost killed the pair of us just now.'

CeeCee, who'd resigned herself back to the mercy of Fortunaschwein's glum library, twitched, and looked around sharply. 'What?' she asked urgently.

I shrugged. 'I almost set us on fire.' When she looked confused, I muttered, 'Shifter stuff.'

A funny look came over her face. 'Shifter . . . ' she murmured back to herself, and her eyes went out of focus.

. . . Um, okay. I looked back at Jack, who was looking astounded. 'What shifter stuff?' he pried.

'Never you mind.'

He was silent for a moment, before groaning, 'I'm bored.'

'Well, you're in a boarding school, it's to be expected,' I joked lamely.

He didn't look all that impressed with my dazzling humour.

'I've been in a boarding school since third grade,' he muttered bitterly. 'I mean, before JSMA.'

. . . Oh.

'Um,' I ummed, 'Right.'

Well. What CAN you do to entertain a thirteen year old?

Oooh, I know.

'Wanna see something gross?' I grinned.

His face broke out into a big smile. 'Yeah?'

I very carefully peeled the shoulder of my sweater back. 'Eww,' he said in glee, examining the highly attractive bruise. 'Whoa. What happened?'

'One of the ghosts twisted his foot on it,' I said. 'It really hurts.'

I dunno why thirteen year old boys relish seeing bruises or painful looking wounds. But Young Jack was rather fascinated by mine.

Whoop dee doo.

That's when CeeCee's cell phone went off, making Adam jerk up in shock, going, 'WHERE?'

CeeCee calmly picked it up. 'Hello?'

I saw her face change to one that looked kind of confused. 'Um, she's right here.'

She?

I was the only other she.

'Sure,' she muttered into the cell, and held it out to me. 'For you,' she informed me, looking weird. 'Um, it's Father Dominic. He sounds pretty . . . heavy.'

'Hey,' I said into the phone, sitting down. 'Sorry we haven't been to visit, I mean, just, you won't believe what happened this afternoon, the ghosts TOTALLY attacked me, but you know me, keeping such a cool head and all, and Father D, we REALLY need to exorcise them because that's the only way that their gonna get the hint because these guys are bitter as hell and I think the only way they're gonna move on is if we give them a hard kick up the b – '

'Susannah.'

' – utt, because, yeah, they're not cool and now I have an ugly bruise and if you'd just let us all exorcise them then we can leave this dumpy school and we could party, and we'd all be – '

'Susannah – ' he said again, in a stronger tone.

'Hmm?'

There was a pause. Like he was licking his lips. 'I . . . I asked that you weren't told, I didn't want you to . . . erm, worry, but they . . . they advised me to tell you . . . they have been advising me to tell someone for a while, now –'

His tone was shaking.

I went very, _very_ still.

'Father Dom?' I said piercingly. 'What? What did they advise – who's _they_?'

CeeCee was staring at me. So was Adam. And Jack.

'I've . . . you must understand, I've – I mean, I've known about it for – ' he broke off.

'WHAT?' I yelled.

'Susannah,' he said in the softest voice I've ever heard him use, 'Please come to the hospital? This isn't something that I'd like to say over the phone.'

And then he hung up.

I just stood there, and I somehow, I knew what he wanted to tell me.

And when CeeCee asked what was wrong, I couldn't find my voice.


	20. Violence and Silence

**Wow. I cannot believe that so much of our foreshadowing is going so unnoticed. There's actually a lot of stuff in Chapter 19 that we tried to make OBVIOUS. Teehee. But seriously, maybe no one commented on it in their reviews, but PLEASE tell me you picked up that thing about Dani? And what CeeCee said? If not . . .**

**HMPH.**

**And to "anonymous," it's not just a 14 year old writing. It's a 17 year old, too. Hayley. The wonderful Texan. We're tag-teaming. Teehee.**

**- LOLLY DIES FROM LACK-OF-HAYLEY – **

**That's why this took so long! SHE COULDN'T COME ON MSN FOR THREE WEEKS. _THREE! _**

**I had to write 27 pages in two days! ARGH. **

**- Lolly goes mad - **

**- 8 -**

By the time I was back at that damned school, it was late-ish. You know. Like, ten. I mean, the visiting hours at the hospital weren't that accommodating, but I didn't care.

When I had left, I'd been hoping against hope that what I imagined Father Dominic wanted to tell me wasn't true.

Now I had returned, it had been confirmed that it – or at least something of that nature – _was_ true.

Father Dominic had cancer.

Ha. It sounds cliché, doesn't it? The priest who everyone thinks is indestructible . . . suddenly gets diagnosed with CANCER.

It was STUPID.

Father D had a primary brain tumor that was cancerous. It had formed in his brain tissue. His tumor was called a glioma. It was in his cerebrum. Doctors had found it when he had an MRI at the hospital for the head bashing he'd received earlier.

I'd been told lots of other things. But I couldn't remember them. I'd hardly been listening to the doctor who'd been talking to me.

I only wanted to know one thing.

'Is he going to die?'

And their answer, let's just say, had not been , 'No, of _course_ not!'

Which left opportunities for a definite maybe.

Or God forbid, a yes.

What really got me wondering, was yeah, this GOD deal. Here was a guy who'd GIVEN HIS LIFE TO SERVE THE GREAT FRIGGING LORD, and HOW does the Guy Upstairs repay him?

'Oiya, Dommy. Here's a brain tumour. ENJOY.'

HOW DID THAT WORK, ANYWAY?

It was WRONG. Religiously WRONG. Father Dom did EVERYTHING for GOD, and he gets CANCER for ALL his TROUBLES.

It's not fair.

Nothing's fair.

And to think . . . he had been so ready not to tell me. What? So when he just DIED, I'd be like, 'But WHY?' and THEN I'd get an explanation?

IT WAS STUPID.

And I was DAMNED FURIOUS. When I croaked, I was going to have some PRETTY HARSH WORDS with this GOD guy. Because frankly, the way he was RUNNING things was NOT VERY NICE.

First he dooms Father Dom's life with a love that cannot last. And oh, THEN, he shoves a TUMOR in his head and makes it MALIGNANT.

Me, CeeCee and Adam had gone. I hadn't told Jack what was wrong. Even though he was old enough to know, I didn't want him to. I'd have to tell Jesse, though . . .

And I hadn't seen Paul since the last time when I'd almost killed him.

I think that had been the best bit of my day.

The near death experience with Mr Slater, I mean.

Because seriously, I was pretty sure that today had been one of the worst ones I'd lived through, for a long time.

Get beaten up. Get degraded. Get mad. Almost get burnt. Get news that your ex-principal, your friend, someone who could be your _dad_ even . . . could be dying.

IT WASN'T FAIR.

IT WAS STUPID.

IT WAS WRONG.

AFTER EVERYTHING, THIS IS WHAT HE GOT.

. . . It just wasn't _fair_ . . .

Me, Cee and Adam had quietly picked up KFC for everyone. We'd eaten ours in the car. But the secret eleven herbs and spices didn't cure our wretchedness. CeeCee spared a thought on whether Dani would actually eat the food we'd bought for her. But then, she barely ate anything. So what did it matter?

It didn't. It was a stupid insignificant detail.

Dani could make her own dinner if she didn't like it. I didn't give a shit about what she ate.

Every bite of chicken made me get colder. And number. It tasted like ash in my mouth. Nothingness. Cardboard. Wasted thirty bucks, you know. It's hard to eat when someone you've grown so fond of can't enjoy the same pleasure of mouth-watering fried chicken with warm biscuits and mashed potatoes.

Oh well, Adam bought it, anyway. I "didn't have my purse on me," apparently.

I just felt so scared. And I felt mad at Father Dom. How could he have NOT TOLD ME?

When I hit the pillows at eleven o'clock that night though, I wasn't feeling anything.

8 -

'Are you all right, Suze?' CeeCee asked me quietly.

I swirled my spoon around my breakfast, watching the gentle ripples of the milk, and the trails that the cereal left. I was still just a little distracted from the night before. So many things had happened, and I really hadn't had the time to think about all of it. They just floated in my mind like my cereal, which was getting soggier by the minute.

'Fine,' I answered tonelessly, staring at my bowl of Frosted Flakes. I tasted a spoonful and frowned. No taste at all.

She made a small noise. It sounded something like _sympathy_. 'He's going to be fine,' she assured me.

I looked up, and laughed a little. 'Oh yeah, what, did Aunt Pru tell you that one?'

'No, I – '

'You're the last person I'd expect to sugar coat something, you know,' I said. 'I mean . . . you usually don't say stuff just to make me feel better. That's what's great about you. You don't bullshit. So just tell me that he's going to die, and get it over with.'

Yeah, that was usually CeeCee. Honest to the point of brutality sometimes. She was just like the regular Corn Flakes, without the added powdered sugar.

She gave me a hard look. 'Suze,' she muttered, 'He's not going to die.'

I laughed again. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Right.'

Everything had died. Me, my belief in love, my life, my hope, my faith . . .

And now Father Dominic was on heaven's freaking waiting list. Knocking at the Pearly Gates. About to go to the big priests paradise in the sky.

Hell, I didn't even know what happened to people who died. I mean, I knew what happened if they left things a mess here. They'd come back and make my life miserable. But Father Dom…he couldn't do that. I mean, not as much as he already HAD.

I guess I was still mad at him. A night's sleep hadn't changed the fact that he hadn't said a _word_ to me about it. Nothing. No indication that he might just not BE here tomorrow.

Not that his stupid cancerous thingie would be like, sudden. Or at least, it wasn't supposed to.

I dunno. I really don't.

Cee was kind of silent after that. I guess I had expected a lot more no-nonsense-ness from her. But there she was, acting like it was all going to be _fine_.

She didn't understand. Nothing in my life ever turned out to be _fine_. And if it did, something, or in some cases _someone_ (cough-PaulSlater-cough) would come and mess it up.

'Listen,' she said, deciding that a topic change was in order, 'Me and Adam are going to go and check the graveyard out the back out. You run by it every day, right? Have you looked into it?'

'Not really,' I shrugged, not feeling all that hungry for my cereal, so I just shoved the bowl away, and then ran my fingers through my hair.

I did run past the graveyard a few times on my morning jog. It was kind of easy to miss, since it was kind of small. In the middle of it was this little wishing well that caught my eye, so I stopped to check it out. Then, I noticed little headstones. I thought to myself that it was totally weird because most normal schools don't have graveyards.

Okay, so Mission Academy had one. But notice how I said NORMAL schools. I must say, with the events going on around here, maybe Fortunashwein really ISN'T like any other school.

'Well, cool. You can come and examine it with us. We're hoping that the Misfortunates were buried there, and we can get check what it says on their gravestones. It won't be anything new, probably. But it will be interesting to see, right?' she said.

'You tell yourself that,' I murmured in reply. I dug my fingers into my pocket, fished out a hair band, and started plaiting my hair so it was out of the way. How _gross_ would it be if I got it in my uneaten cereal or something?

Eww. That was almost as gruesome to imagine as the time that Adam found a fingernail in his corny dog during lunch.

'You coming or not?' she asked crisply, obviously getting irritated with my Father-Dominic-might-DIE thing. Which was REALLY mean of her. I mean, so what if I had a closer relationship with the guy?

He'd been her principal since preschool for God's sake! She should still CARE about whether the thing apparently pressing on his brain was going to kill him or not.

I mean . . . I knew she cared. Just . . . she'd moved onto something else too quickly for my liking.

Or maybe I hadn't moved on fast enough . . . ?

'Whatever,' I said. I traced my finger along the table. It was clean. This whole dining room was weird. It totally reminded me of that Oliver Twist movie, where the high-pitched little orphan boys were singing _Food, Glorious Food!_ and they were dancing around like teeny gay men. Seriously, I could so see hundreds of boys eating their meals at those tables. Slurping soup, laughing, fart jokes, strict teachers onlooking, seniors wolf-whistling at the rare female teachers . . .

Now it was empty.

Of all boys but four, who were destined to spend the rest of eternity within these walls if we didn't give them the required shove off this plane of existence.

And plus, Robin's a dickhead. Those bruises HURT. They'd gone a purply green now. My bruises heal pretty fast. They'd be completely gone in about a week or something, you watch.

Then, the door from the kitchen opened, and Paul Slater walked into the room, with his breakfast.

And suddenly, tension could be cut with a knife going through butter. No – not a knife, a _finger_.

'Suze,' he said stiffly when he saw me. He looked at CeeCee briefly, and then looked back to me. 'CeeCee, can I talk to Suze alone for a moment?' he asked her.

I shot CeeCee a nervous look. I really didn't want to talk to him then, because he might bring up one of two subjects: 1) how upset I was over Dommykins, or 2) the possibility of more shifter lessons.

It was probably number two. No thanks, I'd rather NOT learn how to breathe fire, thank-you-very-much.

She sniffed, and gave me a sideways look. 'Whatever you want to say to her, you can say in front of me,' she replied loyally.

'Actually,' Paul said flatly, 'I can't. Can you – '

'Save it,' I muttered at him. 'Cee? That sounds like a great idea. Let's get on it right away.'

'Get on what?' Paul said, putting down his bowl, but not sitting down.

'None of your business,' I shot back at him rather calmly.

'I'm giving Suze a manicure,' CeeCee added. Oh, great. Now Paul thinks I'm a Barbie like his bitchy British babe.

Paul's face went kind of dull. 'Right,' he said, 'Suze, just wait a minute – '

'Sorry,' I shrugged, 'No can do. Go burn something, occupy yourself,' was my stupid suggestion. And CeeCee and I left the room, leaving Paul standing there, looking annoyed and . . . well, weird.

Anxious, or something.

8 -

'I just love cemeteries,' Adam assured me and CeeCee. 'So full of death. It's just wonderful to know that below our feet are the decomposing corpses of people who were probably heinously murdered – '

'As lovely as that imagery is,' I told him, 'We can do without McTavish.' He grinned brightly.

I understood his sarcasm perfectly, though. The whole of outside was coated with a gentle but definite fog that seemed to choke the air. The mist hung about fiver meters from the ground, reminding me dimly of the Shadowland.

The little well in the graveyard stood out among the small headstones, looking gray and abandoned with age. I eyed it warily, watching for something to come out of it, but nothing did. I guess I had seen _The Ring_ way too many times. You never know, though. Someone could be decomposing in THERE too.

Charming, Suze.

Even though it was during the day, we were shining our flashlights along the ground. Who knew what could happen?

I didn't think that Gilroy GOT fog like this. But here it was, smothering the living like a mother who just can't take her newborn's crying anymore.

Not that we were dead.

Yet.

Optimism. Totally.

CeeCee shone her flashlight on the headstones. 'Any we recognise?' she asked dully.

'There,' I said, causing her to backtrack to her light landed on a smallish looking one. You know, nothing extravagant. 'Bartholomew Ford.'

'Bart?' CeeCee said.

'The one with yellow, spiky hair advising the viewers of America to eat his shorts?' Adam said in mock-disbelief, 'He's DEAD!'

'Please, no Simpsons references,' CeeCee begged. 'So that's him, right?'

I nodded. 'That's him. The little blond one. Look. Died 1969.' I shivered a little. Even though I was in cemeteries all the time, with some type of shifter business or other, I suddenly felt a little wiggy about being in this one.

Maybe it was just those bruises from Robbie were throbbing extra hard.

'Any more of the Misfortunates?' Adam asked vaguely, kicking a weed that was on the ground. I could barely see it with the fog that choked our feet. It was like we were in some made-for-TV horror movie, and fog just HAPPENED to roll in when we were here.

God. How cheap.

'Maybe the other ones were cremated,' CeeCee suggested uselessly.

'They all were,' Adam grinned. 'Fire!'

I snorted. 'Yeah, I guess.' Even though, it wasn't that funny. It was damned creepy.

'I've been meaning to say something about that,' CeeCee said after a second to me.

'Oh?' I asked. 'Really, what?'

'Well, you said yesterday that you and – '

'OW,' Adam yelled, tripping over another weed on the ground. You should have seen the size of these weeds, though. They were gigantic.

'It tried to kill me!' Adam cried in indigantion, 'The weeds are out to get me. They're situating themselves all over the globe, watching, waiting, till their chance to strike - '

'Adam, not now,' CeeCee said, helping him up. 'This is serious. Four boys died in an attic from fire. There was no indication of how it started, right? And we're not even certain that it was suicide.'

'We're not?' Adam went in surprise.

CeeCee shook her head, her hair looking grey in the fog. 'Suze doesn't think so,' she said. 'Well, I mean, she said that one of the ghosts got mad at her for suggesting it. So we can rule out that they ALL wanted to die.'

'Yeah,' I said. 'Seriously. Why would four smart guys wanna top themselves? It's stupid, and it's such a waste. They're just your average horny assholes. But they had futures, and I don't think that all of them were trying to kill themselves. Maybe it was an accident.'

'Or maybe they pissed off the lunch lady,' Adam sniggered.

'Adam, shut up,' CeeCee snapped. 'Come on, seriously. Okay, so what?'

She'd said sometihng, but I hadn't heard her. My morbid thoughts had possessed me. I was staring at Bart's gravestone. It was old, and grey with age. It was everything that was dead, from the words it proclaimed, to that lay beneath it, charred from fire.

Father Dom could be dying.

He could end up in one of those things . . .

And to think, I'd been so MAD at him.

But it was only because I was so damned terrified of losing him . . .

'Suze?'

I blinked quickly. 'Huh?'

'I said, did any of them seem like, you know, smokers. Back in the 60s, usually a lot of the guys smoked,' CeeCee said. 'Image thing. Before all of the health warnings and stuff.'

I frowned. 'Um . . . I mean, no. No, they don't seem like the ciggie types. They look too smart for that.'

'Were they pyros?'

'What?'

'Pyromaniacs?' Adam elaborated.

I rolled my eyes, and didn't respond.

We walked past Bart's headstone, down the considerably long line. There'd been a fair bit of death here, in the time that this school had been running. However, some of the graves were for teachers, or staff or something. I think. I mean, I don't believe that a "Anne Walters, 1885-1934" would be a student or whatever. Unless he had a sex change.

Which is, you know, possible.

But unlikely.

Like the chance that Father D will survive a brain tu -

'Suze,' CeeCee breathed.

I looked where the beam of her flashlight had landed. Bathed in foggy luminance, three tall, dark headstones stood side by side. They each had crosses on the top, and were higher than ME. Which isn't saying much but shut up.

'Wow,' Adam said slowly. 'SOMEone was a rich bitch.'

'That's them,' I said.

Charles Austin . . . Nathaniel Blake . . . Robin Lawrence.

I shivered a little again, and fell silent for a moment. Seeing the gravestones of the ghosts in that God forsaken school make me realize how dead they really were.

Dead, buried, burned, forgotten.

The fog got increasingly chillier.

'Well, well, well,' Adam said in his best Batman voice. 'We finally meet, Robin.'

CeeCee knelt in front of the headstone, getting her knees all icky. She smoothed her hand over Robin's plaque, so the excess dirt was brushed off. 'Yep,' she said. '1951-1969. They all say it.'

'Does it like say, "Beloved son," or something?' I asked.

'Nup,' she turned to look at me, her violet eyes looking misty, 'Just "Rest in Peace." They all say it.'

'They're not exactly resting, are they?' Adam grinned.

I'll say.

'Look at these,' CeeCee murmured. 'These guys were loaded, Suze. This stuff is solid marble.' She knocked on it gently, and I heard the thick, muffled sounds. 'They lived the lifestyles of the rich and famous, all right.'

'But not Bart,' I muttered.

'Yeah,' Adam said eagerly, thinking himself a modern-day Nancy Drew, 'He got some crummy grey stone. They got that stuff. And his is pissy, anyways.'

Bart was different from the other three, all right.

In almost every way.

Apart from the fact that he was dead, was a guy, and went to the same school . . . he had nothing in common with his fellow Misfortunates.

Curiouser and curiouser.

'Yeah,' CeeCee went on. 'His is granite.' She turned to me. 'Do they . . . you know, treat him differently, Suze?'

'They boss him around,' I said immediately. 'He's the only one who's not a jerk-off.'

'But that's because he's younger, right?' CeeCee replied. 'I mean, he's seventeen. The others were eighteen. So they'd kind of treat him like a kid and stuff, wouldn't they?'

I shrugged. 'They do,' I said. 'And he hates it.'

HA. I remembered when I was seventeen. No one bossed ME around. I owned the world. I had so many possibilities. I had Jesse.

It all went downhill at eighteen, though.

All that heartache . . . courtesy of Paul and Jesse.

Thanks a bunch, guys.

I moved my flashlight away from the headstones, around the graveyard a little.

And I went dead still.

'Uh . . . Cee?' I called with a funny sounding voice, 'I thought you said this graveyard wasn't used anymore.'

She replied weirdly, 'Erm . . . it's not.'

'Then what's THAT?' I demanded.

CeeCee came to my side, brushing against my arm. Her contact sent much needed warmth through me. The fog was getting thicker, and the air seemed intent on asphyxiation, and trapping up all the stray fools who'd ventured outside, hiding the way home from view.

But there was no way you could miss the big, gaping rectangular hole that lay at my feet.

There was a blank, wooden headstone there.

It was a double grave.

'Whoa,' CeeCee said. 'Maybe I got it wrong. I mean . . . Mr Head bought these grounds. He shut this cemetery down about twenty years ago, apparently. This is privately owned grounds. No one can just bury anyone here anymore.'

'Maybe his dad died,' Adam suggested.

'And his mum . . . ' I breathed, moving my torch around the inside of the freshly dug hole.

'What? Car crash,' Adam said airily. 'Maybe Head Sr. was drunk, and hit a pick up. And Dicky-H wanted to be cheap, and not pay for a cemetery that was actually OPEN, and bury them here - '

'And what? He came this MORNING and dug this up?' CeeCee said hotly, starting to get freaked out.

'Nah,' Adam shook his head after a moment.

'Then why is there this big, empty hole?' I snapped at the both of them.

Then, there was a sickening thud and a shout, and Adam fell beside me.

'Adam!' CeeCee squealed, dropping on all fours.

A chilling voice came in answer to my question of the existence of the empty hole.

'Because we want to fill it, Susie. That's why.'

I turned around slowly, and blanched.

Robbie, Charlie and Nathan were standing there, grinning darkly at me.

'Cee,' I said slowly, 'Get out of here, now.'

I stood in front of her defensively, glaring at the three ghosts that stood before me.

'Suze, what's going on?' CeeCee asked in a high voice, 'Adam, honey, come on - '

'Get OUT of here,' I twisted my head and yelled at her.

Her face was whiter than usual, in the realms of grey now.

Nathan laughed at me. He thought this was funny. They all did.

Charlie stepped forward, and whipped his hand through Cee's shoulder, who shuddered violently. 'I give her the chills, Robbie,' he grinned.

'Don't TOUCH her,' I spat at him, shoving him back.

'Would you relax, Susie?' Robbie's eyes glinted at me. He and Nathan stood together, looking like . . . I dunno. They belonged together. Not in a gay way. But you could tell they were in cahoots.

He continued in a lazy tone. 'We're not here for her. Although, this would solve our little stop-the-research-and-get-out-of-our-school problem now, wouldn't it?' he suggested idly.

I flushed, and stood closer to CeeCee. 'Cee, GO!'

She stood up quickly beside me, and clicked her flashlight off. 'Suze, Adam's - '

'Get Paul,' I urged her, 'Go - '

As she went to run, I felt hands push me forward, making my heart lurch horribly. I landed on top of her, on the dirt of the cemetery. 'Ow,' she yelped.

Adam was lying still, on the ground. He had a dribble of blood on his forehead, and his eyes were closed.

And Charles had a large rock in his hand.

'Suze, what's going on?' CeeCee shrilled at me, 'What - '

But Robin dragged me up from the messy tangle of limbs, and breathed in my ear, 'Aaah, she needn't worry, Suze. She's got an eternity to ponder about things, after all.'

'Cee, GET OUT OF HERE!' I screeched AGAIN, my voice breaking horribly.

CeeCee made another break for it, but Charles, who'd dropped the rock, and had retrieved a shovel, one which was probably the tool for DIGGING the stupid HOLE, stood in front of her, making her run into it.

'NO!' I yelled in fury, 'Let her GO.'

But Charles wasn't about to listen to me. With the shovel, he swung it violently at CeeCee, so it hit her on the back. She screamed, and fell to the dirt.

I felt a bubble of hysteria. 'CEECEE!' I freaked out, exploding from Robbie's hold. But with a STUPID ghost stunt, he tripped me up, just by looking at me. I collided with the ground, hard, the earth beneath me solid and damp.

The fog almost shielded the world above from view.

Almost.

CeeCee got on her feet again, but that only made Charles start pushing her back with the shovel. It was a solid matter, and was his only means of touching her. Kind of. He moved her so she was on the very edge of the deep grave -

'DON'T!' I yelled, knowing what was going to happen a second before it did -

But with an ultimate shove, CeeCee fell back beneath my line of vision.

I scrambled up in panic, and launched myself at Robin and Nathan in a blind fury, aiming reckless punches at the pair of them. They were both knocked sideways. Then, I leapt on my stomach in front of the hole, and stuck out my arms as far as they'd go.

'Grab my hand!' I ordered Cee. Her eyes were wide in confusion. And fear. She wasn't a mediator. She was a journalist. She wasn't used to this . . .

Her clammy, dirt covered hands came to my own, but before I could have established any kind of grip, hands enclosed around MY ankles, and dragged me away from her.

I kicked furiously at Charlie's hands. 'Let her OUT!' I begged, looking sideways at Adam's still form.

Call Paul, call Paul, call -

. . . No good. I couldn't project any kind of astral voice. Astral block had set in again, and they sure as hell weren't letting me break through this time.

'Look how scared she is,' Robin laughed at Charles and Nathan, 'Look . . . '

. . . CeeCee was yelling . . .

'She ain't seen nothin' yet,' Charles said gruffly, taking a step back. And with that, he and Nathan dematerialized -

Only to reappear over Adam, haul him up via spectral power as opposed to physical contact, and hold him threateningly over the grave too.

'NO!' my voice was hoarse and horrified. I could imagine how frightening it would have been for CeeCee, from where she was. Her boyfriend, dangling lifelessly, three feet above her, I mean.

Frightening . . .

'Please,' I whipped around to Robbie, 'Don't - '

His face split into a delighted smirk. Like he'd just won prom king, or something. Not a smirk you'd expect to see on a guy who was threatening a girl.

'Oh?' he asked.

I wanted to hit him SO hard he'd be trying to digest his teeth for a decade. But I didn't, or Nathan and Charles'd let go of Adam, and let him fall -

'W-what do you want?' I asked, shivering.

It's one thing to fight for MY life.

Quite another to fight for my friends'.

There was more at stake when it wasn't just me at the disposal.

His smirk just went even wider, as if that was exactly what he'd wanted me to ask. I could still feel him kicking me in the stomach from yesterday . . . pinning me down . . .

'What will you give us?' he answered my question with one of his own.

My face was drained of all colour. I tried to invent a reply, ranging from lunch money to my eternal gratitude. But my throat had closed up.

'She's not willing to make sacrifices for her friends,' Charlie said, giving Adam a menacing shake and stealing a high shriek from CeeCee below, 'How disloyal.'

'What do you WANT?' I asked again at Robbie, my fists balled.

He obtained the air of a businessman. 'Well,' he said, 'Now that's an interesting question.'

I waited.

'Simple, really,' Robin smirked, stepping up to me and sliding a hand down my arm, quite unaware that he'd been beating me lifeless yesterday. 'You get out of our school, Suze.'

I looked over at Adam. He looked dead . . .

I just had to tell them what they wanted to hear . . . just for now . . . I didn't have to mean it . . .

'Done,' I said quickly, turning back to face Robin's devilish face.

Robin, satisfied with that, extended his terms. 'Oh, and provide the three of us with some . . . entertainment,' he added, his eyes leaving mine and sliding down.

I swallowed, hard. 'We'll go, I swear,' I lied.

'And the rest?' he asked me softly, his hands resting on the small of my back and jerking me so I was RIGHT against him.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the collision of my body with his.

'Bite me,' I said under my breath in fury.

'Eeeeeh, wrong answer,' he snapped loudly, and his gaze slid into fire-mode, snapping over to Nathan and Charlie. I turned my head in time to see Adam falling, as if in slow motion, into the double grave.

'Adam!' CeeCee yelled.

Robbie threw me against a headstone, and I hit it with an 'oooghmph,' of pain. Then, he narrowed his eyes at the shovel, which floated two feet in the air, before it began digging at the mound of dirt beside the grave, depositing the contents of each one on top of CeeCee and Adam.

'Robin, DON'T!' I wailed. Nathan simply looked at me, and again, I was slammed against the headstone.

It HURT.

The fog was choking me, now. I wouldn't have been surprised if THEY were causing the fog.

CeeCee was begging for the dirt to stop. Each of her yells pierced my heart like a white-hot skewer.

I swore, and stopped. 'OKAY,' I yelled, 'okay . . . what do you want me to - just - don't hurt them,' I concluded pathetically, my eyes wide.

Nathan beamed at me. 'There we go, wasn't that easy?' he asked pleasantly. Robin blinked, and the shovel dropped from the air, onto the soil.

I gulped down something awful, and said in my strongest voice, 'L-let them go.'

Wow. Voice of a commander, right there.

SOMEONE's not going to be the first woman president. Sniff.

Robin shook his head. 'They're down there till . . . we're done with you,' he crossed his arms, his smirk sending me into entrapping chills that would not cease.

'Let them out first,' I shot back.

Nathan looked smugly apologetic. 'Oh well,' he shrugged. 'We warned you.'

And the shovel was at it again.

'God, all RIGHT!' I snapped in urgency. I ran my hands over my face, and stood up shakily.

WHY did CeeCee and Adam have to be here? I could have done this SO EASILY if they'd just STAYED INSIDE. Sure, there'd been no actual PROTESTS about them, you know, um, coming, but that wasn't the POINT.

I was a shifter. They weren't. They couldn't save themselves.

Only I could.

. . . But it was looking scarier by the second.

Again, the shovel went immobile, and collapsed in the heap of soil. I blinked furiously, my eyes stinging from the fog. Like I said, the astral block was too strong. Paul couldn't hear me. Neither could Jesse.

God, if only they weren't so STRONG!

No. scratch that.

If only I wasn't so damned weak.

Robbie raked his eyes over me, again. WHY did guys do this? What? To check is a girls breasts were still there, or something? LOOK, they weren't exactly GOING ANYWHERE, JEEZ.

'Deal's this,' he said. 'One favour, for each of us.'

'Favour?' I asked, 'Like what? The I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine thing?'

Eww. What if he had back-hair?

. . . Ewwwww . . .

Charlie laughed, and looked sideways at Robbie, as if in recognition or something. What? What did I miss?

'So to speak,' Robbie said slyly. 'Accept?'

'Suze, what's going on?' Cee asked in a burble of panic. 'Adam's - he's not waking up - '

'Okay,' I said. 'Now, let them out - '

'Excuse me,' Nathan interjected sharply, still with his arrogant smugness, 'Not yet. You keep up your end, first.'

'What, NOW?' I demanded. 'What can I do for you NOW?'

It's not as if they had LAUNDRY or anything. GOD.

But the way that the three of them were smirking at me indicated they weren't thinking about those kinds of favours.

Their ones weren't as clean as . . . laundry.

'What do they want?' CeeCee's voice rose up from the hole, 'What's happening?'

'I'm getting you out of there,' I said with something of a stutter, 'It's fine, CeeCee.'

I was disgusted with myself.

FAVOURS?

God, that could mean ANYTHING.

Robbie simpered at me, and I held onto the gravestone beside me for support. Which was, ironically, his own. My stomach was hurting rather badly, from where it had been kicked the previous day, and I didn't want this to be happening, and I cursed the very EXISTENCE of Astral Block. God, who was the anus that invented THAT?

Said anus is going to die.

PAINFULLY.

'Well,' Robin said smoothly, tossing an amused look at Nathan, 'I think you should go first, Nate. And plus,' he added, shoving his hands in his pockets, 'I'll save the best for last; . . . me.'

Oh, fun.

I blinked rather quickly. 'Um,' I said, 'So – er, what – '

Nathan stepped up to me, and I panicked again. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, huh?

'Whoa, wait a second,' I said, 'What are you doing?'

'Having my turn,' he stated, as if to say, "DUUUUUUUUUUUH, FRED."

I winced a little. 'Um – '

THAT kind of favour?

. . . God. These guys needed to get laid, really bad.

BUT - JUST NOT BY _ME_.

'No,' I shook my head quickly, after a moment of dead stillness, 'No, I mean – there's limitations and all – '

'I do not recall us discussing limitations,' Robbie informed me dryly.

Hotly, I retorted, 'Well, _I'm limiting, _you freak!'

This was scary. It was. The three of them stood around me like predators. And I was SO the prey.

Robbie sighed in mockery, and smirked. Instantly, the shovel began throwing ludicrous amounts of dirt into the grave –

'Okay,' I breathed again in defeat, hiding half of my face with my hand again. I didn't know what he wanted me to do.

I mean, I was _SO_ refusing if he asked for a bl –

'I'm a gentleman, Susie,' Nathan smiled at me, coming to stand over me. 'All I want is a kiss.'

The fog drifted right through him. The trees to the left of the graveyard were all reaching up into the sky. A little beyond there laid the lake, where these boys had tried ever so hard to drown me.

Yeah, suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch a gentleman.

I shut my eyes, breathed in, and then out. 'Um, okay,' I muttered, now really nervous.

Come on, Suze. CeeCee and Adam could DIE, and you're having feminine misgivings?

Jesus, you're selfish . . .

Although, when he shoved me back against Robbie's gravestone, pressed his lips to mine and started going a little ungentlmanly, I got pissed.

I pushed him away in disgust, and punched him one on his cheekbone, making him fall backwards in a disarray of arms and legs.

Turd.

Although considering I was trying really hard to keep my friends from being buried alive, that wasn't the smartest thing to do, I don't think.

'Bad move, Susie,' Robbie said darkly. 'Really, really bad move.'

Yeah, I noticed that.

This was even further proven when Charlie dematerialized behind me, in between me and the headstone, and I felt strong, darkly-skinned arms wrap around me with the force of a tourniquet. And then he attacked my neck with his lips, more like a vampire than any ghost I'VE ever encountered.

I cried out, and CeeCee demanded to know what was wrong. I was shaking from the fog and the fear.

I was trying to save the lives of my best friends. But in doing so, I was acting exactly what Paul had accused me of being. It was sickening. I _felt_ like a whore. My GOD.

Charles had made the skin of my neck pull tightly, as if it were a balloon being inflated. It was searing murderously, and my teeth were gritted against the hot, fiery sensations that had claimed my throat. The feeling clashed painfully with the chill from the air, and his arms were growing tighter around me, as if urging me to pop or something.

I had to say something though. He sure knew what he was doing. For a kid, anyway.

Or, you know, an eighteen year old.

But that's not saying much.

_PAUL_ knew how to kiss like that when he was seventeen. You know, make me paralyzed from the complete pleasure and the guilt.

But Charlie . . . he was just hurting me.

Nathan laughed unkindly, holding his face in ire. I guess he was getting insulted that I constantly kept beating him up.

However, I think that Robbie balanced that out for me, no?

Then finally I managed to break the grip that his interlocking fingers had on my waist, and I shoved myself away from him.

My heart was going KA-THUNK-KA-THUNK-KA-FREAKING-THUNK in my chest. I looked back at the three of them in horror.

'Look,' I said, 'This isn't funny, now please, let them out – '

'Actually, I think that it's my turn about now?' Robbie nodded complacently at Nathan, running his fingers through his jet-black hair. His dark eyes snapped over to me, and I felt my recently ka-thunking heart go immobile inside me.

Shit.

He advanced on me, the epitome of confidence, arrogance, satisfaction. For the love of God, I was so channeling some serious homicidal thoughts then. But if I pissed him off . . . Adam and CeeCee were history.

I flinched as his hands came onto both of my arms.

'That wasn't very nice, what you did to poor Nathan,' he scolded me. 'You know what? I think that he really wants your little friends to get buried – '

'No,' I protested, 'You said if I – '

'But you HIT me,' Nathan whined, angry.

'You said no limitations!' I snapped back at him, 'No where was it mentioned that I was forbidden to introduce you to my _fist_, so there – '

_Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul . . . Please hear me, God damn you . . . come on . . . PAUL! PAAAAAAAAUL!_

Then, Robbie drove me to the ground, my elbow getting really dirty from the soil beneath me. The fog was now so thick that my furious objection was muffled. CeeCee was yelling to know what was happening, and by the time I was on my back with Robin Lawrence forcing me down by my wrists, I couldn't answer her.

'Kiss me and I'll let them go,' he hissed.

I shook my head at him, feeling almost sorry for him. I mean, I know he was dead, but COME ON. God, is THIS what he had to go through to get a girl? It was pretty sad, you know? I mean, this wasn't exactly getting me in the mood, or anything.

NOT THAT I WANTED TO BE IN THE MOOD.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

'You _son of a bitch_,' I breathed up at him hatefully.

Nathan and Charles were laughing at me.

God. If these guys had been alive, I'd give them a couple of years before they each turned out to be rapists or something. No, seriously. They were kind of similar to Cole. Guys, who liked to be in control.

Paul was like that, too.

But not to this extent . . . no way . . .

He just sighed, squeezing my wrists tighter. The additional scream I heard from CeeCee indicated that he'd resumed his filling of the grave.

'I think you're being kind of selfish,' he frowned down at me. My chest rose and fell in my quick, shallow breaths. They were slicing at my throat as each dose of foggy, bitter oxygen scythed its way into my lungs. 'Obviously they're in love. Would you _want_ them to spend the rest of eternity together?'

In other words, dead.

This wasn't fair . . . this wasn't . . . a girl shouldn't have to go through this, you know? Blackmailed like this. I mean, this was LOW.

It's only a kiss, Suze.

Just do it.

But I think that part of me knew that no matter what I did, CeeCee and Adam weren't going to get out of here alive . . .

And that part of me was frozen in horror.

I bit down my pride and my integrity, screwed up my face in preparation for the self-disgust that was about to be pumping throughout my entire body, and I lifted my face to his, kissing him hard.

And a second later, I stopped, turned my head, and spat out all that I could of Robin Lawrence.

Ewwwwwww . . .

Okay, not so badly eww. I mean, he wasn't exactly ugly.

But he was a total man-bitch, so I'll ewwwwwwwwwwwww all I like, thank you.

However, that excuse for a kiss didn't really seem to win too many awards with him, if the way he chucked in my face, and basically fell on top of me, kissing me deeply again was any indicator.

I didn't kiss back.

There have been times in the past when I just can't HELP but reciprocate.

Paul being a prime example.

However, this was not one of those times.

Not by ANY means.

I was shaking so badly beneath him now, what with the suffocating fog, and the terror that CeeCee and Adam weren't going to get out of here all perky and fine.

And that was what made me struggle for all I was worth.

I mean it. I was flipping and thrashing like mad all of a sudden, trying to let his heavy form off of me. 'Get OFF,' I shouted at him wrathfully, 'You're DONE – '

He tried to hold me down, laughing the whole time like this was some JOKE to him, but I was REALLY PISSED OFF.

And that's when I saw his fist go up, like Cole's did. It always happened so slowly.

Like Paul's fist, too, when we were fighting that time.

However, unlike Paul's fist, it didn't stop.

It hit me hard on the side of the face, producing an unbelievable explosion of pain behind my ear.

And I went dead still.

I think that was what did it.

I very slowly turned my head back to face him. He had a big, angry grin on his face that slid off when he saw the look on _mine_.

He obviously was not aware how often that very same action happened to me . . .

'Right,' I said.

And then I went positively psycho. I started yelling in rage; FORCING him off of me and onto HIS back and then I began repeatedly striking him in HIS face to see how HE liked it.

'DON'T – YOU – _EVER _– DO – THAT – _AGAIN_!' I screamed shrilly at him in hate and fury and every other emotion that was commonly guided towards Cole Kennedy when he performed his little fist-fest on me.

Nathan and Charles chose then to step in, dragging me off of Robin before I killed him – again. By my wrist, I was slammed most unceremoniously against Nathaniel Blake's towering tombstone, meriting only a half-cry of pain from me. Then, I felt Robbie's cold fingers coming around my neck.

And they weren't exactly getting looser, let's say.

My eyes bulged, and I fought so desperately for a gulp of oxygen, but he wasn't allowing me that. He pressed me harder against the grave.

Why is it that almost ALL of my near death experiences seem to involve lack of air?

WHY?

IT SUCKS.

NO, REALLY, IT DOES.

'You like this, Susie?' he asked coldly, kneeing me in the stomach where he KNEW he'd bruised me the day before.

My eyes went wide from the unbearable pain, but I couldn't scream because he air was being cut off.

He laughed bitterly in my face. 'Yeah, what about this?'

One of his hands released my neck while the other continued constricting. It fell to my shoulder, and squeezed it, HARD.

I almost keeled over . . .

God, this was – acts of a sadist -

It was about when my eyes were ready to flutter closed, when a voice yelled out, 'Don't!'

Paul?

Jesse?

Neither.

As the hands on my throat relaxed in confusion, I fuzzily saw Robin's head turn sharply around.

Bart was standing there, looking determined but nervous.

Robin's expression merged from a sickly amused one to one of pure anger.

'Get the hell out of here, squirt!' he snapped uncouthly at the little blond guy.

Bart was rather white, looking pretty pathetic next to Nathan and Charlie, who so obviously towered over him.

'She – she didn't – I mean,' he mumbled, 'Let her go, Robbie.'

God. Gotta hand it to him. He was scared to death (pun not intended) of Robbie, you could tell.

And here he was, defending little ol' (almost dead) me.

Robin went rigid in anger, but then his fingers slid from my neck all together. 'You're right, Bartie-boy,' he smirked, hauling me up. I could barely stand properly, from the lack of oxygen communicating with my body. I felt like I'd been on a drug, and I was coming down from a high.

The drug being, of course, rage.

Nathan shoved Bart to the side, and laughed when he fell in the pile of soil. Robbie threatened into my hair, 'I think I prefer it this way . . . '

With his ghostly power, he held out one of his arms. A funnel of dirt came spiraling up from the pile of soil beside the freshly dug grave, and with a whirlwind of mud, it was dumped where it had been removed from, silencing the shrill screaming from CeeCee.

'NOOOOOOOOOOO!' I shrieked, throwing myself at the newly deposited dirt, 'CEECEE! ADAM! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR? ARE YOU INSANE? WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU FAT _FREAKAZOID_?'

Bart was horrified with Robbie.

Nathan and Charles were both laughing, kind of uncomfortably now. Robbie seemed surprised that he'd actually done that, but was determined to appear 100 percent in support of his decision to oh, I DUNNO, OFF MY FRIENDS?

I began digging with my bare hands at the dirt in terror.

THEY WERE BURIED DOWN THERE.

_ALIVE_!

. . . Not for long.

'CEECEE!' I screeched into the ground, tunneling madly, 'ADAM!'

GOD DAMN IT!

She would be losing air . . . crushed from the dirt that was trapping her down there with Adam –

The shovel landed beside me, courtesy of Bart. I went to grab it, my heart in my throat and my faith in my fingertips, but _FUCKING_ CHARLES YANKED ME BACK FROM THE GRAVE!

That was when something very strange happened to me . . . a fire/ice feeling claimed my body, my muscles going rock-solid and my blood freezing to a halt, mid-circulation. It felt like a possession . . .

And all I could see was a _burning, sizzling red._

And then, the dirt from the ENTIRE GRAVEYARD was ripped ten feet into the air – Adam and CeeCee included. I heard twigs snapping, stone breaking, CeeCee coughing, wind yodeling, my heart pounding, my blood screaming, my mind willing . . .

And it all began falling again.

Except Adam and Cee.

They remained, suspended mid-air, suddenly motionless dead-like.

Gravity worked its magic. Rocks plummeted back to ground level, the soil, COFFINS, headstones, planks of wood, _tree roots_ even –

When the dust had settled, I was still standing, shaking, doing EVERYTHING to keep them in the air -

Then I let go.

They drifted down eight feet, and landed full force for the remaining two.

And I crumbled to my knees, exhausted out of my mind.

The Misforts were gone.

As was the Astral Block.

Finally.

_Paul . . . Come outside. **Now**. _

8 -

'You did this?' Paul Slater's eyebrows were raised, high. His eyes drank in what was left of the graveyard.

It was upside down.

Jesse was helping me up tenderly, telling me to put my weight on him. 'Yeah,' I grimaced. Jesse's arm was around my waist, and my knees felt fully, like my upper and lower legs were joined together with bubblegum, or something.

Paul whistled. 'Whoa, Simon. Not bad.'

'Shut up,' I said wearily. I really didn't need him swooning over what had been something almost _painful_ for me. It had been like, traumatic, or something.

CeeCee and Adam were a mess. Adam was finally conscious, and CeeCee looked like she was about to cry. And I so didn't blame her. She was a strong person, but YOU try getting buried under all that earth, and NOT feeling teary.

So when she did start choking on sobs, I felt it.

It must have been horrifying for her . . . God . . .

Paul and CeeCee – who was still crying – were supporting Adam – who was kind of limp – and we gradually made our way back inside. I left like I was going to collapse. I was well aware that what I had done, what I had _caused_ . . . yeah, that was why I felt so oogie. I mean, I'd destroyed a whole area. It was literally rubble, broken coffins, stone, and a whole bunch of other crap.

I even caught sight of a corpse, violently jerking me back to the day when they dug up Jesse . . .

When we were inside, Jesse slid me into a chair, and CeeCee and Adam crumpled into one each, also. Paul snapped at Dani – who was floating around, owning the world – to make some coffee. She whined that she wasn't so housewife, but then caught sight of me, Cee and Adam, and was like, 'Oh.'

Yeah. Oh. A very BIG oh.

CeeCee's face, clothes and hair were stained with mud. She said she just wanted a shower, but Paul wanted to get some coffee into her before she went anywhere. Jesse brought his trusty first aid kit downstairs, and set to work on Adam's forehead without, you know, actually making physical contact with him. It must have been an experience for him. Adam, I mean. To have a sticky-bandage magically being pressured onto his forehead.

I think that I was in shock. I mean, I was talking sort of okay. But only when someone asked me something. I couldn't believe what I'd done, or that Robin had been so LOW as to do THAT.

Try and kill my friends, I mean.

I was well aware than in a few short hours, I'd be in a murderous rage. I'd storm to the library, in a furious search for Robbie's, Charles' and Nathan's pictures. I'd be LIVID. I'd try to exorcise them, and Paul and Jesse would try to stop me but I wouldn't care.

I knew I had power, now.

It was in me, all along. I just hadn't felt anything like it. You know, the fury, the pain, the fear, the horror, the shock . . . the deadly fusion of all of those things that had triggered something so powerful and destructive within me –

I felt like I'd been possessed by something that I couldn't control. Not in the least.

And it scared the hell out of me.

For now, though, I sat in my chair, trembling from my distress, barely able to hold the coffee mug that Dani handed me spitefully. She sneered at me condition, and walked away, the pure personification of snot.

I stared down into my coffee. It was black, and there were little ripples running along the surface of the dark liquid, from my shaking hands. I saw my distorted reflection in it, with my wide eyes and my constantly moving muddy, slightly bloody forehead.

What had I _done_?

On Paul's order, Dani had to go help Adam with CeeCee to get to the closest shower, so they could clean off. Jesse was told to wait outside the bathroom, should there be any dramas. After that, Dani was to wait with Jack, who was in the library playing _Counterstrike_ on Cee's laptop.

Leaving me to Paul.

Wow. Fun.

When everyone left, it was just me and him in the kitchen. I sipped the coffee. The caffeine dripped hotly down my throat like an elixir, making me feel a little better, and not quite as tired.

He waited silently for a few minutes till I was up to speaking, more. Then, I handed him my half-empty mug, and he emptied the contents in the sink, before coming back, and sitting beside me.

Another moment of silence.

Which he, you know, broke with the inevitable, 'So, what happened, exactly?'

I gave an almighty sigh, just staring at my hands which were playing dead on my lap.

'Long story,' I replied.

'Well,' he got comfortable in his chair, 'McTavish and Cee have a _lot_ of mud on them. I figure they'll take a while.'

Fair point.

So I told him.

Well, you know, almost. An abridged version, I guess, skipping all parts that portrayed my as whorish.

Because he so didn't need the encouragement, you know?

I was rather proud of myself, too, I mean, I didn't even babble it. My pace was achievable by the rest of the human race this time, because I was tired and didn't feel like repeating myself.

When I told him what I did to the cemetery, and what I felt when it happened – you know, the fire/ice thing – he looked all knowing and all recognition-y.

'What?' I paused in my story.

He smiled at my grimly. 'You've finally untapped your powers,' he announced flatly, as if it were something glorious that he couldn't be bothered congratulating me about or something.

'Yay,' I said with a fatigued sarcasm. 'Well, I must have scared the hell out of them; they got out of there pretty fast. After they went, I was finally able to call for you. They took their stupid Astral Block with them,' I added bitterly.

'No they didn't,' Paul said.

I frowned. 'Huh?'

'They didn't take it with them. You broke through it, Suze.'

Wow. I . . . I guess I did.

I released another sigh. I felt awkward around Paul still. I guess yesterday had been pretty intense, and my parting words to him had been playing on his mind a little. I dunno. I guess I was hoping that they had.

Excuse me for being optimistic.

'You're tired,' he informed me.

'No kidding,' I said.

'It's no wonder. That was your first full-blown experience with any kind of power like that,' his eyebrows were raised again. 'Did it just . . . feel like something _else_ was using you; something that you couldn't control?'

I looked at him strangely, seeing that he was perfectly serious. 'Yeah,' I said slowly. '_Exactly_ like that.' It was freaky how well he'd actually pinpointed it, actually.

The trademark smirk made its return. I wished that he hadn't smirked. I'd been seeing a lot of them today. And now they scared me. His ice eyes had a softer look about them, at the moment. They weren't calling me demeaning names at the moment. His hair was getting a little curlier by the day. He really needed a haircut if he wanted to keep up the oooooh-I'm-a-punk-ass-lawyer-and-I-mean-business look.

'Well, that's was it was like for me, too. I only really started experimenting with the shifting stuff after I met you, actually,' he enlightened me.

I turned my head away from him again, lowering my gaze back to my hands. 'Oh,' I replied.

We were pretty still. Our voices were basically monotone. It was weird. As much as I didn't want to be, I knew that I was one shifter, talking to another. Not so much Susannah Simon, having a conversation with Paul Slater anymore.

I felt like things that were bigger than me were on the move. Like some all-powerful existence had just _used_ me to cause so much demolition.

Well, you know, not SO MUCH, but hey, I think I'd moved on from breaking any VASES here.

And it was scary, okay? I felt scared of myself. What if I had have gone that little bit further? Killed Adam and CeeCee myself?

Because I hadn't any control over myself. I knew that. It was a shapeless, dark and pure influence that had worked through me. Like electricity.

I was bearing the aftermath.

'Hey,' he said after another second, his blue eyes going that little bit sharper, 'You okay?'

I shifted a little so I was sitting up. 'Yeah, fine,' I muttered quietly.

'No you're not,' he demurred. 'You're shaking – ' He went to grab my hand, but I moved it away abruptly, fearful of any more contact with a guy. Robin, Charles and Nathan had scared me so much, so I don't think you can blame me, right?

I turned away from him. 'Uh, I – ' I cast my eyes over to the kitchen table. That was pretty much were we kept all of our, you know, personal stuff. Stuff we wanted to just grab and go if we ever went out. My bag was there.

With my phone.

Which promptly beeped, indicating that I'd gotten a message.

I went to stand up, but Paul beat me to it. My heart started beating again. He started rifling through my bag. I just sat, still. Kind of paralyzed again, I guess.

When he retrieved it, he narrowed his eyes at the screen as he thumbed the digits, till he assumed a look of confusion.

'Friend called Aimee Smith,' he said. I blanched horribly. 'She says . . . '

He trailed off, and then came the expression of dull anger.

' " . . . Where you fuck are you, you bitch." Wow, Suze. Nice friend you got there.'

I just stared at the phone, getting more and more exhausted by the second. My face was completely deadpan. 'Please,' I said softly, 'Just . . .don't – '

'You changed his number to a different name,' he said in a toneless voice.

'Of course I did. What did you expect me to do?'

He tore his eyes away from my phone, and gave me this look that seemed to hurt me more deeply than all of Cole's punches.

It was like, betrayal. Like he was HURT, or something, that I didn't trust him.

WHY THE HELL WAS HE SO SURPRIZED?

I had to look away.

He called me a whore, and a coward, and pathetic, and he wanted me to come running to him with my stupid dumb ass guy troubles? God, as IF.

'Press charges,' he said in a voice that seemed well on the way to being angry.

I continued staring at the phone, answering with the universal response: 'Hmm.'

He shoved the phone back in my back, and turned towards me in blatant annoyance. 'Suze, I'm serious.'

Still expressionless, I just said, 'Paul . . .stay out of it.'

And wonder of wonders . . . he just gave me a filthy look, but dropped the topic.

There is a God.

'Well,' I muttered. 'What are we supposed to do now? With the Misfortunates, I mean.'

He gave me a grin look. 'I can think of something I'd like to do,' he replied darkly.

What? Enslave them too?

'You're not alone,' I sighed.

. . . You'll never be alone . . .

There was another moment of awkward, dead silence. Just breathing. Him standing, me sitting.

'Where did you go last night?' he stabbed at conversation. 'De Silva wouldn't tell me, the bastard.'

'Hospital,' I said shortly. 'Father Dom's got a brain tumor.'

'Oh,' his tone changed. ' . . ._Oh_.'

Oh indeed.

'Well,' I said, not really wanting to go into all the gory details about how it was icky and cancerous and stuff, 'Shit happens. Even to priests who've never done anything wrong in their entire lives.'

And shit happens to twenty-three year old girls who are getting routinely beaten up by ex boyfriends.

But I didn't say that.

Paul was staring at me with analyzing eyes.

I sighed AGAIN, (God, would I STOP THAT ALREADY?) and raised my gaze to the high ceiling. I ached everywhere, and just to be nice and random . . . all I wanted was my mom.

Who wasn't here.

So stop being a loser, Suze.

This was really awkward, now. I was tempted to ask "What's for dinner?" to say something, but I didn't. He seemed to still be digesting the fact that Father D had a big fat tumor in his noggin.

'What,' he said expectantly.

And I told him.

'I _yelled_ at him,' I blabbed immediately. 'When he told me, I yelled at him. Like it was his _fault_, or something. Just, he didn't _tell_ me, Paul.'

I ran my hands over my face, and then moved them so they were covering my eyes. I wanted - no, needed to sleep. I wanted Jesse to be holding me again like he held me the other night. I wanted to yell, I wanted to cry, I wanted to run, and I wanted to hide and be SPARED from all of this.

But no.

How could God POSSIBLY be so kind to me, Susannah Simon? That was like, unheard of.

Shock!

When I removed my hands from over my eyes, Paul was sitting beside me again. 'Don't worry about it,' he muttered, dragging a hair through his hair. 'He knows you don't mean it.'

'Whatever,' I said sarcastically.

This was all so frigging screwed up.

More silence.

'Listen,' he said suddenly, 'About what you said yesterday - '

Oh. That.

'Hmm?' I hmm-ed.

I didn't look at him still, which probably annoyed him. But I didn't feel up to it. It was just too . . . I dunno, draining. Life draining.

'Well, just - ' he struggled to arrange his sentence. I believe that's called syntax. 'I was drunk, Suze.'

_But you don't take it back, do you._

'Right,' I said.

. . . Right.

* * *

**Love Lolly (and Hayley, wherever she is, teehee.) **


	21. Love and Indifference

One of our shorter chapters, again. Please, go easy on us when you review. Be gentle, young ones. We apologize ahead of time for your future reading.

All our love,

Lolly and Hayley.

P.S. The Chapter should be up after this one.

8 -

Dinner was a pretty disturbing affair.

Dani wasn't even there. I think that was about the only plus. Other than that, this eerie sort of vibe that hung in the air sort of creeped me out. Like death was still out to get us, even if we did manage to narrowly escape it.

On the downside, CeeCee was pretty quiet. Her face looked tired from all the crying she did earlier. And Adam was acting weird. Edgy-like, you know? He looked scared, surprised, and a little baffled too.

Which is, you know, totally understandable, considering how the two of them were almost killed this afternoon. That's gotta be hard to swallow, you know? Especially since they really had no idea what was really going or who was really chucking all that dirt at them.

But I bet that, after their steamy shower, they were feeling a little bit better.

Makes you wonder. I mean, it's not like I'll ever have anyone to shower with, is it?

I mean, even when I was in love with Jesse, back then, we couldn't exactly SHOWER together. I mean, he was embarrassed enough when I was in a BIKINI. So forget the pair of us standing naked together, sheesh.

And secondly, it's not as if hot water would be all that special for him. He couldn't feel it.

But due to the fact that there is NO love lost between me and Jesse nowadays, the likelihood of me showering with him is a) kind of gross now, and b) not going to happen.

So I shut the hell up and stared at my curry chicken. It was a wonder that CeeCee and Adam were capable of cooking, after what they'd been through.

And even though I'm sure it tasted wonderful, I couldn't bear to savor it. It was like the chicken was glaring back at me, saying, 'Hey, you're not supposed to be eating me. You're supposed to be DEAD'.

GOOD ONE, SUZE. WAY TO WASTE A NICE MEAL.

I poked at it with my fork. Curry chicken doesn't talk, so what does it know? I TOTALLY saved the day. I have a right to sit and eat, right? Hero's grand dinner, you know?

I didn't feel like much of a hero. I still felt vulnerable and unsafe. I noticed that I wasn't the only one, though. Adam's usually empty plate was filled, with only a few bites of chicken eaten.

So I wasn't the only one freaked out by chicken. I know that sounds strange because the chicken was dead.

But so were the Misforts. And look at the damage they _almost_ caused.

Jack was staring at me and Paul silently for the first half of the meal, which, while horribly quiet, was probably the most bearable half. I guess that isn't saying very much, since Jack's inquisitive mind soon got him into some serious trouble.

'What was up with those guys, Suze?' Jack asked.

At first, I really had no idea what he was talking about, so I just stared at him. He elaborated with, 'You know, with the whole graveyard thing? Why were they after Adam and CeeCee?'

'I don't know,' I answered uncomfortably. I really didn't want to tell Jack that it wasn't just Adam and Cee they were after. I mean, if the whole 'one favor per ghostie' deal Robin set up was any indicator of what they really wanted.

Jack was thirteen. He didn't need to know the gory details.

'But they had to have a reason,' Jack pleaded. 'I mean, they wouldn't just throw them in a ditch for nothing, would they?'

I blinked a few times, really surprised at Jack. My was he a little curious this evening. Usually, he just let things be. He didn't question what we did because he knew we'd never tell him what was really going on. So he just let it happen while he did his own thing.

But there's only so much you could hide. And what went down in the graveyard was just a little too obvious to sweep under the rug. He'd already heard about the damage and everything.

'They want us out,' I told him plainly. There was no sense lying to him.

He looked confused for a moment. 'But . . . we're trying to help them, aren't we?' Jack asked, looking around the table for reassurance.

I nodded. We were trying to help, but the Misfortunates didn't want help. They wanted revenge. Or that's what I thought, at least.

Jack continued, 'Then why would they do that? I don't get it. It's not fair.'

'Things in life aren't always fair,' CeeCee said, so softly she was barely heard. I noticed she was staring down at the curry chicken in front of her. She hadn't touched it either.

There was a silence so uncomfortable you could practically see everyone squirming in their seats. No one talked or made eye contact of any kind.

Well, except Adam, after a while. He was acting so _weird_. 'So. What are we going to do now with our ghosties then?' he asked with a forced laugh.

His voice sounded so unwelcome after such a dead silence.

'Me and _de Silva_'ll handle them from now on,' Paul said very quietly. 'They're starting to target Suze. I don't know what they'll do now that they realize she has power, but I don't want to risk it.'

If Dani had been here – she wasn't – she probably would have been all, "They're out to get me TOO. Don't forget about me, Paul. Suze isn't the ONLY victim of the sex-crazed ghosts!"

However, unfortunately, it seemed I was.

Ha. Bet Robin wouldn't bash HER head into a door . . .

He'd probably let her go free in exchange for copping a nice, long feel of her bazookas.

'Um,' Adam said, 'Is there any way that we could . . . you know . . . ' he blushed very darkly. 'Uh . . . just, you know . . . ' he looked sideways at CeeCee, 'We can't see any of them – me and Cee I mean – so maybe just for safety precautions we should – I mean, maybe Jesse could stand around or something – '

Having declared himself unmanly in front of his woman, he went even redder with shame. But CeeCee nodded seriously. 'Yeah. Could he do that?'

'Apparently he'll be with Suze,' Paul said in the dullest of humored tones.

I threw him a glare.

CeeCee gave me a funny look, but I ignored it. Great. Now CeeCee and ADAM will think I'm sleeping with Jesse too.

GAWD.

'He can mind them,' I said quickly. 'I mean, he just stands around anyway.'

Just in case you had OTHER THOUGHTS ON YOUR MINDS.

And with another glare at Paul, we all fell silent again.

I poked at my dinner with my fork. I didn't feel very hungry still.

Jack, seeing the tension, changed the subject. 'So, Suze . . . I heard you tore up the cemetery. Corpses everywhere and everything! How did you do it?'

I shrugged.

'Did the ghosts attack again? What did they do? And was that why CeeCee and Adam looked all muddy? Did they try to get them too?' he asked, his eyes getting brighter with each question. 'Can I make cemeteries blow up too? If I practice, a lot, I mean. Because I really want to learn. Can you teach me how? Is it – ?'

'Jack, I think we've had enough questions from you for tonight,' Paul interjected, sending a cutting glare at him from across the table.

. . . Okay. The PMS of PMS is kicking in.

Jack protested. 'Nah,' he said, 'Remember what you said Paul? Last time Suze didn't tell you something? How me and you were part of the SIA too, and that we had a right to know when stuff happens? Well, it's only fair that you tell me too, because I'm apart of the SIA as well, and - '

'Jack, shut _up_,' Paul snapped at him.

Jack fell silent quite quickly, looking hurt and betrayed.

By his own flesh and blood.

He stared down at his food for a second. After looking blankly at the chicken, as if willing it to dive down his throat and choke him or something, he stood up and muttered, 'I'm going to go read - '

'Stay where you are,' Paul growled at him.

'No,' Jack said.

'Yes,' Paul retorted, resting his fork, looking ready for a fight.

'You're _not_ my dad,' Jack said furiously, 'Shut up, Paul - '

Paul gave Jack the most furious glare I'd thought he'd reserved for Jesse de Silva alone. It was one that made Jack quail.

'Fine,' Paul said acidly at his little brother, 'Get out then. Go on. No one's making you stay at the table now.'

Jack stared, wide-eyed.

'Get out!' Paul yelled.

'Paul,' CeeCee said in warning at him.

Paul relaxed a little in his seat, shooting Jack an ugly look.

And finally . . . the true sibling colors emerge.

I KNEW that all of that stuff between the two of them had been an act. Jack had seemed so plastic. And Paul . . . don't get me started on him.

Jack's chair scraped across the floor of the large dining room, the noise echoing throughout the entire room.

Then he stood up and left.

CeeCee rounded on Paul. 'What the hell was that for?' she demanded hotly.

Paul shrugged. 'He needs to grow up,' was all he said in his defense.

I gave him a horrible look, stood up, and followed Jack right out of the stupid room.

'Jack,' I called after him as I tore down the hallway, 'Jack, wait up.'

But he had turned a few corners, and I had lost him. I listened for some indication of where he might be at, but couldn't hear a thing, except for maybe a few creaks in the floorboards as I wandered around.

The last thing I needed was for Jack to go running off in the school alone. I mean, the Misforts already went after CeeCee and Adam. Sure, they went away after I tore up the graveyard. I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about what'll happen when I'm NOT around to stop them.

Who knows? They might throw Jack into more dumbwaiters.

I found the stairs and sat on them, resting for a moment. I had been calling for Jack for a while, and my vocal chords were starting to sting with strain. Plus, I was still feeling a little battered from the whole graveyard thing.

Finally, I heard a door in the distance slamming dramatically, and I knew exactly where Jack was. Where do all teenagers retreat when shit happens? Their rooms, DUH.

Okay, so it really wasn't HIS room. But it was where he lived temporarily, until this mystery was solved.

I jogged up the stairs quickly and found my way to his door, tapping on it ever so lightly.

'Jack,' I said again, 'Please come out. It's me, Suze.'

He didn't answer. I knew he was trying to pull that 'If I'm quiet she'll leave me alone' thing. I employed that same strategy on my mom after the whole Big-Sur incident. She was concerned because I had practically locked myself in my room the rest of the summer until I went off to Boston.

I opened the door slowly, to reveal a sulking Jack, lying on his stomach, face in his pillow. He wasn't crying or anything, just lying there.

'Okay,' I said, 'I'm not going to ask what's wrong, because I know that already, and 'what's wrong?' is a stupid question, because there's always a lot that's wrong and it's just a matter of pinpointing the thing that's the most wrong at that moment. Which is stupid. Because there's a LOT wrong between you and your brother,' I said.

He murmured at me. Just a noise.

'Firstly, your brother's a prize-winning asshole,' I informed him. 'And secondly, if that had have been me, I wouldn't have said a thing differently. Although, at the end, instead of walking off, I would have told him where shove it, and I would have thrown my chicken - which I hadn't touched all night - at his face. But that's just me.'

Jack ignored me.

I sat down next to him on his bed, still not meriting any real response from him.

'Look, Jack,' I said, poking him a little on the shoulder, 'you can't let Paul push you around all the time. I mean, I let him for years, and look how I turned out. You don't want to turn out like me, do you?'

'Better you than HIM,' Jack said, his voice muffled from the pillow.

'Yeah right. He's a hot-shot lawyer with a super-model girlfriend. He's got me beat hands down.'

Jack lifted his head from his pillow and stared at me with his hard blue eyes. 'You don't get it.'

. . . Says the emotional thirteen year old.

I gave him a wry smile. 'I don't?'

'You don't get it at all,' he repeated, shifting so that he was now laying on his side.

'What do you mean?'

Jack sighed. 'My parents want me to be like Paul. EVERYONE wants me to be like Paul. But I don't want his stupid life. He can HAVE it and shove it up his butt, for all I care.'

Wow. Go Jack. I was intrigued, so I continued to listen.

'People think it's so perfect. I hate it. His life, I mean. Well, it's not. His job is boring and stupid. And Dani? She's pretty, but I know that she hates me. The only reason Paul's going out with her is so they can show off how 'perfect' they are when really the only thing they really have in common is that they're miserable. Dani's, like, bulimic or whatever because she hates herself. And Paul . . . he ruins anything that's good. He has to go mess up stuff for other people because he knows his life sucks just as much as everyone else's. He just wants people to think he's better.'

I couldn't even think of how to reply to that. Not when my mind was whirling as fast as it was, right then.

'I'm not going to be like him,' Jack resolved. 'I never wanted to be. I remember asking for Paul's help after finding out he could see ghosts, too. He told me that I would never be like him. I wasn't powerful enough. Or strong enough. The only person that has the power to be like him is you, Suze. But he's not going to let you get there without ripping you to shreds first.'

I sat, quite stunned by that revelation. 'What?' I asked, having heard him perfectly. I felt numbed. Startled.

Jack looked a little guilty about what he'd said. As if he'd come out of a trance of depression, or something. Ha, wish I'd come out of mine. ' . . . Sorry,' he said after a moment, 'I didn't - '

'He _said_ that?' I asked stiffly.

I couldn't understand how a thirteen year old could have seen his world, and had made such accurate observations. It was frightening.

It was daunting to contemplate that MY life wasn't the only one that seemed screwed up beyond repair.

I wasn't alone.

_. . . I'd never be alone . . . _

'Jack,' I said slowly. 'Listen to me. You are NOTHING like your brother. Nothing, okay? You're better than him. You're not going to end up like him. You're going to love your life. You're not going to get bossed around by him, because you'll stand up for yourself. You'll fight him back if he EVER tries to get at you, okay?'

Why don't you take your own stinking advice and apply that to your COLE situation, Suze?

Jack sat up, using his elbows to support him. He shook his head and looked at me with hopeless eyes.

'Yeah, I'll be able to fight back,' Jack said with a sarcastic eyeroll, 'and then he can cause me to disappear by wiggling his nose or whatever. I can't mess with Paul. Not unless I want him to mess with me.'

'I tell you what,' I bargained, 'we'll leave Paul to his miserable life, and if he tries to mess up yours, I'll pound him. You saw what I did to that graveyard. I'd be more than happy to do that to Paul for you.'

Jack smiled his trademark Slater half-smile. 'That was pretty cool. I wish I could do stuff like that.'

One man's blessing is another man's burden. Things were so much simpler when I thought I was just a mere mediator, before Paul came along and turned my universe upside down. I mean, part of me wished I never learned about the extent of my ability. You know what they say . . . ignorance is bliss.

Then again, that fire stuff can come in handy. Next time I visit Gina in New York and someone tries to mug me . . . FWISH! They'd be toast. Literally.

I smiled to myself as I ruffled his hair. Maybe it was kind of cool that I did THAT. I was able to suspend CeeCee and Adam in midair while causing a huge whirlwind thing that upturned graves. Okay, it was kind of gross, but I still felt accomplished because not only did I do those things . . . I also managed to drive away the Misforts temporarily. That was, like, one obstacle down.

A gazillion more to go.

I decided to leave Jack on his own for a while to do the normal teenage angst thing, while I went back downstairs. So what if his wallowing time included plots of possible revenge? Paul wasn't the ONLY Slater with a mind to scheme. I'd heard of a few little stunts Jack pulled off without getting caught at school. And I'm not talking super glue on the teacher's pencil or anything. I say let him, as long as it doesn't involve a vicious fratricide then it'd be okay.

Yeah. Leave the Paul mauling to me.

I entered the dining hall the short way through the kitchen. Sure, it wasn't as scenic or pretty as entering the double French-style doors from the hall, but it worked. As I pushed the door open slightly, I hesitated going in because I saw Adam and CeeCee engaged in some 'romantic' activity. I didn't want to interrupt.

Adam pulled away from his kiss and stared, wide-eyed at CeeCee. He looked as if he wanted to say something . . . something important, but was at a loss for words.

CeeCee met his look with a look of concern. 'What's wrong, honey?' she asked.

Adam muttered briefly. 'Nothing. I just realized something, that's all.'

'What?' CeeCee went.

Adam looked very tense. Like, really tense. 'This may come as a surprise to you, but I've been thinking a lot.'

SHOCK!

'Huh?'

'That thing with the ghosts,' he said quickly. He ran his hands through his hair; a classic Jesse movement, one which he does in utter nervousness.

Adam McTavish does not get nervous. Something was definitely awry.

CeeCee went rather still, her lips parting slightly. Her eyes were wide. ' . . . Adam?'

Adam turned to face her again, maintaining eye-contact the whole time.

And then he did it.

He didn't dress it up. He didn't sugar coat it, like the usual Adam McTavish would do. It was not strangled by humour. It was mature, passionate, desperate, and the true plea of a man in love.

'Marry me.'

I think that Susannah Simon died just about then.

As did CeeCee Webb.

Both suffered fatal cases of an extreme overload of ecstasy that only heaven could offer.

CeeCee couldn't move. But her eyes . . . they said everything.

I got a lightning-fast recollection of something Adam had said while standing outside that stupid Club Peacock nightclub.

"_You're right, I am a lucky guy. Really lucky . . . "_

I'M SUCH AN IDIOT. WHY DIDN'T I FIGURE IT OUT THEN?

CeeCee stared at him. In complete, utter, paralyzed, heart-stopping love.

That look was one I'll never, ever forget.

'I don't have a ring, or anything,' Adam said breathily, 'I know, I . . . this has been put off for _far_ too long. CeeCee, we almost _died_ today. It could have all stopped. All before it started. Sorry to be cliché, but life's too short. Especially when some dipshit ghosts try to bury you alive – '

A tiny giggle exploded from CeeCee's mouth. 'This is crazy,' she laughed at him, not knowing what to do with herself.

I gripped the door frame, my eyes shining.

'It's not. I was crazy when I made you take the back seat to other girls – '

'That was just Suze. You tried offering Debbie a ride once when you got your VW Bug. She told you to get a life.'

'That's not the point. Cee . . . I want you to be in the front seat, from now on. In case you forgot, we almost died today. I know I come off as a fearless macho-man with the gorgeous muscles and Fabio's body, but that scared the shit out of me. I'd always thought of matching cemetery plots, Cee, but not until we were, like, a hundred and eight years old. You know, _after_ having our ten kids and thirty grandchildren. We'd be so old we couldn't eat anything but oatmeal and applesauce – '

CeeCee threw herself into his arms, and started crying. And laughing. It was insane, really.

My heart was soaring. I can't begin to imagine where HERS was.

. . . I don't think that heaven is high enough.

Adam was whispering into her hair, and she was laughing, and she was saying yes, and he was hugging her, and she was loving him, and I loved the both of them for loving each other like that . . .

And then like a complete dumbass, I waddled in there and hugged the both of them, screaming like the world's biggest loser.

And we were all laughing.

And forgetting how to breathe.

And a lot of other stuff.

A hell of a lot.

I guess that the engagement of your two best friends can blaze through the darkness like a very, _very_ strong flashlight.

8 -

'CEECEE AND ADAM ARE GETTING MARRIED!' Jack squealed energetically, hugging CeeCee, 'WHEN ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED? CAN I COME? ARE YOU MARRYING HER JUST BECAUSE YOU GOT HER PREGNANT, OR SOMETHING?'

CeeCee looked rather alarmed. 'I'm not pregnant,' she corrected him, her eyes wide for a second.

Jack beamed wildly. God. I swear that little boy has PMS. His moods fluctuate more than tropical weather. ' . . . OH MY GOD!'

We were all camped out in CeeCee and Adam's room. Don't ask why. I was pretty wary about sitting on their bed, too. I mean, it wasn't made or anything, and God knows what those poor sheets have been through during their stay.

Now they could boff each other's brains out IN wedlock. So it's all good.

I couldn't have been happier for them. The more selfish parts of me were feeling sorry for _myself_, but I REFUSE to regard said parts, because they suck and no one likes them.

Kind of like Dani.

Who, you know, turned up then. 'Who died?' she asked, 'Is Jack still in a strop?'

We, sitting on the soon-to-be McTavish's bed, gave her half excited, half stony looks. 'No one _died_,' I said spitefully.

'And I was NOT in a strop,' Jack objected. 'Whatever that is.'

CeeCee, not able to hide her euphoria, and apparently not able to expose her Dani-hate, burbled, 'Adam just proposed!'

The strangest look came across Dani's face then. Her tanned skin seemed to lose the slightest shade of colour, and her vividly violet contacted eyes had a film of stone over them. Her too-red lips parted, and then closed.

And then her face cracked into one of the fakest smiles that _I've_ ever seen in my life.

'That's marvelous!' she chirped, 'Oh dear, I'm so happy for you! Can I see your ring?'

CeeCee faltered. 'Oh – well, it - '

'It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,' Adam said quickly, his grin too fading slightly.

Dani's eyes went wide. 'No ring? Why Adam, I thought you had class, you silly boy.'

Any one would think that was just kidding, right?

It wasn't. Danielle Moore did not kid.

She tormented.

Adam's ears went a little pink. 'Well, I – '

'I mean, surely you _have_ a ring, and you just haven't given it to her yet,' she said in her taunting confidence, 'I mean, on _my_ first proposal, dear George offered me the _biggest_ diamond. A _pink_ diamond. How could I say no?' She gave Adam a hearty wink. 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend, after all.'

And dog's are a man's best friend. But I doubt that CeeCee wanted to buy Adam a dog.

CeeCee wasn't smiling anymore.

'I – I don't have a ring yet,' Adam shrugged, 'Just – I – '

'You thought you'd be enough?' Dani simpered cruelly. 'Well, that's quite understandable to think. I guess I forgot what it was like to not . . . expect as much, I guess.'

Adam's smile totally slid off, too. He was mighty embarrassed.

CeeCee was mortified.

And I was damned pissed off.

'Dani?' I gave her the sweetest little smile, fluttering my eyelashes abundantly, 'Why don't you go throw up your dinner?'

Dani stopped smiling too. Her eyes went so cold, that I believe they surpassed even the chill that PAUL could inspire. She gave me the hardest glare, and –

. . . Whoa.

Okay, I – I might be wrong on this one.

I mean, beneath all of the plastic on her face, it's hard to tell.

. . . But I think I touched a nerve there.

She tossed her violently red hair, and left.

Satisfied with myself, I smiled back at Adam and said, 'Don't listen to her. Your relationship is deep enough not to need a stupid diamond. No bling could ever outshine you two.'

'That,' Adam said as he pitched his pillow at me, 'is the corniest thing I've ever heard, Simon.'

'I've heard worse from you, McTavish,' I grinned as I hit him back with the offending pillow.

And then it turned into an all out pillow fight. CeeCee took Adam's side and started assaulting me with her pillow. Jack joined my team, and with brute Slater strength, managed to tackle Adam and stuff a pillow in his face.

When we finally called it a truce, everyone giggling on the bed, we suddenly realized how late it was and just how tired we were. Lazily, I left the room with a yawn and a goodnight and headed for the shower.

I took a long, warm shower. I felt better than I had in a long time. Despite the whole near-death thing, I knew everything was okay for now. That's the only thing I could really secure: safety in the present. I couldn't say much about the future, however.

It felt good knowing that there was something to live for after nearly getting buried. Having good friends who loved me as much as I loved them, I mean. Granted, it was something small in the grand disaster of my life, but it was still something.

I stepped out of the shower and suddenly felt like all of my blood rushed to my head. I slipped on my PJs and robe and steadied myself on the wall for a moment. I guess the whole not touching dinner thing was finally getting to me.

I took a breath and the black spots flooding my vision disappeared slowly. I needed to eat. Or at least get to bed. And since I could barely stand let alone make the long journey downstairs, I chose to head to bed.

I walked down the dark hallway, grabbing at the wall for support as I made my way. I heard a light twinkle behind me and I turned my head sharply, an action I soon regretted when I found my vision swimming with floating purple and black spots again. My legs nearly gave out, but I found myself caught in the arms of none other than Jesse.

I was caught a little off guard. I thought it was one of the Misfortunates, back for another round of whatever they called their little game, a game that I was NOT up to playing. I let out a small gasp and clutched my chest as I rested against Jesse.

'God, don't _do_ that,' I said, breathing hard.

'I didn't mean to startle you, Susannah,' said Jesse in a highly apologetic tone.

Jesse helped me to stand up again. Which, you know, was embarrassing as well as necessary. My head felt all fuzzy and dizzy and spazzy and lots of other words with double z's in them. I hardly even noticed that he'd helped me to my feet. I felt like I was floating upside down, anyway. Blood kept rushing to my head. I could hear it so clearly, thumping in my ears with painful resonance.

I felt like a floating face or something. All of my other body parts were kind of numb but tingly at the same time.

'What is wrong with you, Susannah?' he asked in concern.

Oh, nothing. Schizophrenia's just playing up a little.

'Tired,' I muttered.

Which, you know, was perfectly true. I mean, I WAS tired. I doubted that mentioning the fact that I hadn't eaten would engender a very perky response from him. He'd probably think I was doing a Dani, or something.

By, erm, _doing_ a Dani, that is to say . . . I mean, not _DOING_ a - that's just wrong and . . . I'm perfectly sure that I'm heterosexual and -

PAUL SLATER IS THE ONLY ONE HAVING SEX WITH DANIELE MOORE, OKAY?

YEAH. I'm glad that's cleared up.

Okay…I SO did NOT need that visual.

. . . _Eww._

All I wanted was to fall into bed, and sleep. I really felt worn out. Like that shifter-power thingie today had taken more out of me than a 20 mile sprint. Jesse, the ever-helpful gentleman, (pfft!) slid one arm beneath my knees, and scooped me up like it was nothing.

Oh sure. Show off your strength to those who suddenly find it impossible to walk. "Look at me, Susannah, I can walk AND carry you at the same time. BEAT THAT."

Actually, Jesse wasn't there to rub it in. He was pretty humble about the whole thing.

'You should not walk,' he murmured, when I went to defend that little thing called PERSONAL SPACE.

Yeah. I guess I had to agree with him. It wasn't just a case of "should not." I think I was pretty close to "could not."

I'm just that sucky.

I dunno why this fatigue had hit me so suddenly, and so horribly. But it had. Like a delayed reaction, or something. I guess that up till now, I'd been running on left-over adrenaline instead of food. Now it had all worn out, and I was left, tired as hell.

So Jesse de Silva carried me up the flights of stairs in the violently haunted ex-boarding school of Fortunaschwein. I felt each movement of him stepping up the, erm, steps, and I could feel his breath in my hair. God, I could have fallen asleep right there . . .

But I didn't. I wasn't tired, so much as exhausted, I think. And besides, it would be weird, don't you think?

When he finally reached my room, he drew back the covers of my bed, ghost style, (aka, with his mind,) and then settled me down gently.

Stupid ghosts and their telekinesis…why doesn't the Big Cheese hand out these powers to people that could really use them?

Like me for instance. I promise to use it for more than fetching a Diet Coke from the fridge. That would just be one of the perks.

. . . Then again, according to Paul, I COULD do that.

If his whatever-ghosts-can-do-shifters-can-do-three-times-more-powerful theory checked out.

Ha. I could float THREE Diet Cokes my way.

I WOULD BE ALL POWERFUL.

Yeah. Just as soon as I stopped blowing things up or making things catch fire, I'd be sweet.

So, that could take a while.

Pfft.

'Erm, thanks,' I said, releasing the World's Biggest Sigh. He sat down beside me, and his hand came to my shoulder. Due to the late hour (around nine or something,) the moon was streaming in through the window like whispers. Pale moonlight highlighted Jesse's hair, so the gentle curls shone blue. The realms of his face truly looked dead. But, you know, alive in some incomprehensible way. Two tiny pinpricks of light dotted his pupils as he stared down at me.

'What?' I asked expectantly, when he wasn't exactly leaving.

He blinked softly. 'Nothing.'

I narrowed my eyes in curiosity. 'No, what. Really.'

He looked like he was about to say something, when he lost his nerve, and changed it quickly to something else. 'What happened earlier with Jack?'

'Oh,' I said with a grim look. Awkwardly, I recalled the things that Jack had said. About Paul, and his power, and his . . . outlook on life, I guess. I mean, now that I'd heard it, Jack had summarized Paul to a tee. 'That was nothing, really. Jack was just pissed off that Paul yelled at him at dinner. He's okay now.'

'I see,' Jesse said thoughtfully. You know, Jesse has really nice eyelashes. He does. They're not like Paul's. Paul's quite long for a guy – they make him look even yummier, but yeah.

Nah. Jesse's were short. But they looked good on him.

So yes. He had nice eyelashes. They just curled from his above his eyes. 'He's not fond of Paul, is he?'

'Who is?' I asked.

Jesse laughed softly.

But really . . . when you thought about it . . . _who really was?_

I mean, Paul's parents obviously didn't care about him all that much. Jack only wanted to impress him to try and win favor with him so he wouldn't get burnt to a crisp. CeeCee was pissed off at him for how rude he was to me the other night. Adam didn't really care about him; he'd gone out with Kelly Prescott, and that was repulsive enough.

And Jesse and I hated him in every way possible after what he did to us.

So that pretty much only left Dani, huh? Who apparently, was only dating him because the little joy she got out of life was only parallel to the little joy Paul got out of his.

Sucks for him. Not that I feel sorry for him or anything. I don't think you could ever accuse me of feeling sorry for Paul Slater.

I mean, I really, REALLY hate him. I do. I'll never forgive him for what he did, and how he acted when we were both kids. What he did ruined _everything_.

He was what Jack said. A life-ruiner.

And I was the ruin-ee.

It's strange, though. I mean, Paul couldn't even be classed as a sadist, could he? He ruined peoples' lives, and still, he wasn't happy.

That's a pretty frightening thought, though. To think that someone with that much power, and money, and acknowledgement . . . could still not be happy.

Going back to the annoyingly over-used proverb of "money doesn't buy happiness."

Yeah. But it sure helps.

'Jack will be okay, won't he?' I said to Jesse anxiously, 'I mean, you know, in general. He's not the happiest kid in the playground. He's had a pretty crappy childhood. And I don't think he gets much support from anyone except . . . well, you and Father Dom.'

What's wrong with them, you might ask? Well, Jesse's dead and a little over-due with his meeting with the Maker. As for Fr. Dom? Yeah, that little meeting might come sooner than we all thought.

Meaning he's going to die.

Wow, Suze. THAT'S sure positive thinking. But it's probably the truth, considering that nothing ever happens as it should on this planet.

Happily ever after only happened in fairy tales and bed-time stories. And, let me tell you, my life was in no way like Cinderella or Snow White.

More like . . . Rumplestiltskin.

Meaning . . . I do everything that I'm supposed to – I do the hard work for everyone else, make the straw into gold, DO the impossible, trying desperately to get SOMETHING in return for doing my good turns, but I still get screwed in the end. By all the beautiful, rich powerful people in the world.

Stupid miller's daughter. Stupid prince that she married who made her make straw into gold. I mean, what an ASSHOLE. "I'll marry you if you can perform a miracle."

WELL, I COULD TALK TO THE DEAD. SO, WHERE ARE MY PROPOSALS?

I'm Rumplestiltskin to a tee.

And I'm teased for being short.

And it'll probably be my own fault that I die. I'll probably stamp my foot through the ground and down too, just like the little guy in the story. Poor little dude. You really have to feel for him. What the hell did HE do wrong?

So yeah. I'm Rumplestiltskin. Totally.

Jesse gave me a warm smile, and pulled the covers up ever so slightly over me. 'He will be fine,' he assured me. 'And you are beautiful, Susannah, for caring about him like you do.'

Huh?

. . . Hey. I guess I do. Care about Jack, I mean.

What can I say? Jack . . . he just grows on you. A lot. And soon, you just want to take him home hug him and watch him grow up. The RIGHT way. Not like his parents have, and not like Paul tries to. You just want to spoil him rotten, and make everything better for him, since it's obviously been shitty for him thus far.

I blinked down, and smiled with embarrassment. 'I'm just worried about him,' I said honestly. 'I worry about anyone who has ever been within five feet of Paul Slater.'

'Hmm,' went Jesse.

That only resulted in one of the more comfortable awkward silences that I've had. Now that I was horizontal, my head wasn't pounding so terribly. I was still a bit hungry, but I didn't want to ruin the coziness I felt being all tucked in the bed.

'Adam just proposed to CeeCee,' I said.

Jesse nodded. 'So I heard. It's wonderful.' His hand came to mine, and his fingers curled around my own. I closed my eyes, and for a moment I imagined what it'd be like. To be married, I mean. You know, living with someone and doing and sharing everything together. Walking, showering, cooking, even something as deep and as intimate as sex.

I never thought of marriage before as something so sacred until Adam and CeeCee got engaged. I always thought it was just the natural next step: dating, moving in, engagement, marriage. It was almost like a mathematical formula in my mind. People fall in love and get married. That's all folks.

Only now it's something more…something pure. Like a work of art always in progress.

Sigh…

'Do you think I'll ever get married?' I asked randomly.

Whoa, Suze. Nice going, there. Way to fantasize out loud. As if Jesse doesn't already think you're a freak, with all the falling over and stuff.

I could feel Jesse's warmth on my hip, as that was what he was sitting beside. The funny thing was . . . he wasn't warm. I mean, he wasn't REALLY.

He was dead. He hadn't put off any warmth in WAY over a century. Astral projections aren't supposed to have that healthy, 98.6 degree body temperature like most people have.

Jesse answered slowly, 'I think that you will, Susannah.'

I felt like asking, "To who?" but that would have been dumb and probably rude. I mean, there was that guy Madame Zara mentioned. You know, my 'one true and proven' love or whatever.

Where was this guy anyway? Did he get off on the wrong exit? Take a wrong turn?

Oh my God. What if my one true and proven love turned gay? Got so frustrated with women and just gave up on finding Ms. Right and concentrated on finding Mr. Right. What would I do?

I sighed and opened my eyes again. 'Sometimes I don't know,' I whispered. 'I mean, first of all, I have to find a guy that won't think of me as a complete freak because of the shifter thing.'

And secondly, I have to find a guy who won't use me for kick-boxing practice.

Jesse murmured something under his breath.

'Huh?' I asked.

'Nothing.'

It didn't sound like 'nothing' to me. In fact, I'm pretty sure whatever he said was in English, so he couldn't use the 'it doesn't have an English translation' thing either.

'No, what did you say?'

'_Nothing_.'

'You did so. What –'

But when Jesse's hand found its way to my face, feeling coarse on my cheek, I pretty much shut up.

No, scratch that. I couldn't remember how to _speak_. I brought my eyes up to his, and all I could do was stare at them.

What was happening? I felt like I had started watching a TV show I used to like a long time ago after I had stopped watching it for a while. Now that I was finally watching it, I had no idea what was going on.

I had a feeling that no amount of re-runs could ever catch me up on this one, though.

There was something in Jesse's eyes then that made my skin feel like it was suffocating my veins and stealing all of the oxygen in my bloodstream. That thing in his eyes was something I wasn't ready to see. There was something there, beyond the unreadable mystery of his irises . . . I could see something stirring . . .

And when his lips gently came to mine, my eyes closed, and my brain started whirling, and my fingers started tingling. He leant down so he was on top of me, and his hand cradled my face tenderly. His skin on mine made me feel anaesthetized.

. . . After five long years, Jesse de Silva was kissing me.

Oh, _maaaaaaan._

I know that you're not supposed to think so much during a kiss. It totally ruins, it right? And believe me, you DON'T want to ruin one of Jesse's kisses. It was like a piece of passion's deepest purity; an artist's delight. It made your heart race and your head spin and your breath quicken and your world dissolve into nothing . . .

Only . . . well . . . that was just it.

That USED to happen.

But it didn't then.

Not to say that Jesse wasn't kissing me right. Oh, boy, he was. I hadn't been kissed like that for so long. Not with that love. No way.

I kissed him back. I did. I mean . . . it would be insulting to him NOT to.

But as my hand held his shoulder, and the fingers of the other curled around his neck, and both of his were caressing my face . . . I stopped kissing him.

I stopped doing pretty much everything. I was numb. I COULDN'T do anything.

After a moment, Jesse realized that he was inducing no more response, and he pulled his lips away from mine, looking down at me in confusion . . . _passion_ . . .

And all I could do was stare at him in what probably looked like a _yeah . . . so?_ manner.

He was breathing hard and unnecessarily. I mean, I was too. But I didn't want to be. His eyes were pretty wide. I could see the entire circles of his chocolate irises. His non-existent body heat was overwhelming me. He was still on top of me. So close to me . . . he looked like he was going through hell and back, to have not been receiving any reciprocation from me.

'_Susannah . . . _?' he said breathily, 'I - oh . . . _Nombres de Dios_, I -

I closed my eyes, hard. 'I'm sorry,' I whispered ever-so-quietly at him.

'Am I . . . hurting you in any way?' he asked anxiously.

I didn't reply. Just stayed behind the sanctuary of my closed eyelids. I didn't want to see the hurt in Jesse's face.

'Susannah - ' he prompted a little more urgently this time, but I opened the emerald greens, and gave him the saddest look I've ever employed. I knew this, because it triggered one of HIS sadder looks.

' . . . Oh,' he said. 'Oh.'

I didn't even have to explain myself to him. He knew exactly how I felt just by looking at me. And just like that, he hopped quickly off of me, looking away ashamedly.

'Jesse, I'm so sorry,' I apologized, feeling as though my heart was breaking.

Because, you know, I KNEW what it felt like. Heart break, I mean. He'd broken mine. And now . . . I was pretty sure he was undergoing some pain in his.

Even if he was dead, and didn't technically HAVE a heart anymore.

Jesse stood beside my bed, looking ashamed and crushed. No, really. Like I had just crushed the little hope that he'd ever had.

Because that's exactly what I'd just done.

'No,' he shook his head. 'No, I understand perf - ' he broke off suddenly.

I couldn't do this. I really, really, really couldn't –

My professor told us that the cavemen had two responses in times of great stress. These got passed along generation by generation, even to the more evolved humans. I didn't think cavemen had stress, but I guess when they got cornered by saber-toothed tigers or something, they'd feel a little pressured.

Anyway, the two responses were fight or flight. Which do you _think_ I chose?

I slid off the edge of the bed, and instantaneously, the rush of dizziness set in once again. I don't know where I was going to go, or what I was going to do. My body went into complete auto-pilot, while my mind and heart were working in strenuous over-drive.

'I have to go,' I mumbled hastily, looking nervously for the door –

'Susannah,' Jesse's voice stopped me. I turned back around, seeing him silhouetted against the small window. The moonlight shone _through_ him. But I couldn't see his face.

'Please,' he said . . . 'Don't leave. Not again.'

What was THAT supposed to mean? That it was MY fault that I'd had to go to college? Was he BLAMING me for needing an education now? I mean, I certainly wasn't like one of those old-fashioned chicks from his time. If you wanted to get somewhere in the twenty-first century, you needed college. And I WANTED him to come with me. HE'D REFUSED. So what the HELL DID HE MEAN BY _THAT_?

'How dare you,' I spat at him, going from emotions of despair to ones of white-hot anger. 'Are you blaming all of this on ME, Jesse? The fact that I'm like this now? It's my fault, is it?'

'You don't understand, Susannah. _You_ had a life. I did not. And there was no reason for me to take yours.'

'Of course there was! I LOVED you! Wasn't that reason enough?' He shook his head, taking slow steps towards me. No, no, no . . .

'I died a long time ago. If I had have come with you, you would have suffered the same fate. Not a physical death . . . but something worse than that. You had your own life.'

'What I do can not be qualified as LIVING!' I stressed to him. Didn't he KNOW that by now? 'And do you think I CARED about that?' I snapped.

He stood over me again. 'Oh, Susannah . . . you were only eighteen.'

'I was in _love_.'

'I know that. I do. I was also . . . ' he trailed off and swallowed.

'_And I still am, Susannah_.'

. . . Oh God, oh God, oh GOD.

I felt like I couldn't breathe properly. Oxygen was too painful. THIS was too painful.

And so was my reply.

'You are,' I nodded. 'But I'm not.'

Not anymore. I just found that out after five long years, living what you could almost call a half-life, comparable to the one Jesse lived, only mine was more emotional than physical.

Well, I'd done it.

I'd killed a dead man.

One who loved me.

I'd always known that when Jesse had sent me away, he hadn't stopped loving me. I'd known. I'd just tried to hard to forget that bit. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate everything about him, and not acknowledge his love for me, one that was, and always would be, constant.

But now that he'd verbally reminded me, I had remembered all over again that the reason he hadn't come with me, was because he'd loved me so much . . .

And he'd said it now.

When I was still in pain from his decision to let me leave, I had wanted to hate him.

It made me think.

What really IS the opposite of love?

I mean, everyone's immediately like, "Oh yeah. Hate."

But _is it?_

I mean, love is a very strong emotion, that can be equally paralleled by the evil emotion of hate.

But love is also caring about someone.

What if you just . . . didn't care?

Indifference?

I was not in love with Jesse anymore.

Now . . . I finally knew . . . I was indifferent, now.

I mean, I cared about him. I did.

But I didn't love him.

I couldn't see his eyes in the moonlight. His back was towards the window, as he stared out at me. But the coldness that I felt indicated that the emotion I'd inspired in him was one of the deepest despondency, and the most distant despair.

And God, it killed me. I could see, hear and feel the heart of a ghost, breaking.

And his silence killed me more.

'Susannah – ' he began, but stopped himself, as if he'd regret his words.

I took a hurried step back, demanding no intimacy. 'Please, Jesse, just – just don't.'

Again, he stood there; a statue of ice and death and pain.

I felt like the dark tyrant of his heart. I was causing devastation to his very _soul_. His agony was my doing.

It is SO not cool to break someone.

It hurts you as much as it hurts them.

. . . But _never_ more so.

'Ah,' he said finally, in a voice that sounded rusted and strained. 'I guess it is only to be expected of you, after my hasty actions of the past. I was – ' but he couldn't go on, again. Like his voice had conked out and had died.

I just stared back at him in the deepest sadness.

After five years . . . I was concluding it.

A doomed love. It just wasn't meant to be.

I was only _sixteen_ when I fell for him.

Now I was twenty three. And finally, I'd come to terms with reality. Jesse was a great guy. He was. He was kind, compassionate, zealous, affectionate . . . all the things someone could ever want in a man.

Except that he wasn't really in this world. Not really. Not in the way that he needed to be.

I was the mediator. He was the ghost. We'd fallen into the trap of love. It looked like only I'd managed to escape, though hardly unscathed.

But Jesse, the preservation of a great, and passionate man, was still imprisoned in impossibility. And that love was taking its devastating toll.

Ha. God, _another_ Maroon 5 song . . .

_This love has taken its toll on me._

_She said goodbye, too many times before._

_And her heart is breaking in front of me,_

_But I have no choice._

_Coz I won't say goodbye anymore._

But it's the other way around now. I was breaking _his_ heart.

_I_ was the one farewelling our over-due love.

I was ending it.

I _had_ to.

We both needed it.

Otherwise we'd never move on from it.

. . . And we'd never fully heal.

'So where do we stand now?' he asked in the more un-Jesse-like voice I'd heard. It was half there.

For the first time, he truly sounded dead.

I sighed, and blinked down. 'We tried, Jesse,' I said very softly. 'We really did. We put up a hell of a fight. But I guess it just wasn't meant to happen.' He ran a shaking hand through his hair, and turned away from me swiftly. 'No,' he agreed, defeated at last. 'I guess you are right.' He stared out my window, something that only my Jesse had, and would ever do.

He wasn't mine, though.

He never had been. I could pay for as many headstones as I wanted . . . I could exorcise myself as many times as I pleased for him.

But it would do no good.

The love wasn't there anymore. It had died of the pain.

'You know, Susannah,' Jesse said in a deep, honest voice, 'I never, ever stopped loving you . . . '

Don't cry . . . Simon, don't you DARE cry . . .

I inhaled a harsh breath, and bit my lip. My jaw was unsteady, and my eyelids felt heavy with tears that suddenly wanted to spill. 'I know,' I said in a half-sob. 'Jesse, I'm so sorry . . . '

'Don't be,' he turned back to me, and smiled in a determined, almost angry way. As if he could not accept the thought of an apology from me. 'You have nothing to apologize for, Susannah. You are at fault in no way. No one is. It just – as you said, wasn't meant to be like this. And no man can change his stars. It's not a happy thought, to think that one's fate is pre-written. It seems like one has no control over their own lives; that everything is predetermined. I do not know . . . ' he trailed off, looking down. 'I don't know anything, anymore . . . '

The tears were spilt.

But the pain was eased.

Oh _God_ was it eased.

Jesse's love was no longer a burden. No longer did I feel guilty about it. In a sick way, I was finally free from the most encumbering piece of my painful past.

He wrapped his arms around me, and held me close. It was an embrace of love. It was one that did not make my heart beat fast, anymore. I hugged him back tightly, with all of my affection and gratitude.

Not love.

But my ability to love was finally on the mend. No longer would it be fractured, or malfunctioning. My heart was my own, now. Jesse and I had finally returned the pieces that we'd stolen from each other.

God . . . this guy deserved so much more than me. It was so horrible that he hoped for at least _something_, but had gotten nothing.

And now I'd taken away his hope.

I felt like a murderer.

More silence passed. But it was getting easier. It didn't hurt as much.

Jesse eventually broke away, and gave me a slow nod. 'Slater informed me that CeeCee and Adam wanted me to watch over them,' he said. 'I . . . I should go.'

I murmured in agreement. 'Yeah.'

He maintained eye contact. 'I shall come back. Later.'

In other words, _when you're asleep_.

Which I think was better for the both of us.

'Yeah,' I said again. 'That'd be good.'

He lowered his gaze, and dematerialized.

I just stood there.

I'd done it.

. . . Finally . . . the endless cycle was over.

With a nearly limp body, I crawled back into bed and curled up on my side, waiting patiently for the covers to warm me up. I knew that I wouldn't be fully warm. My soul had been chilled to no end.

But it would warm up in due course. It wouldn't remain in prisons of ice.

I closed my heavy eyelids, expecting to remain awake for hours in contemplation of what I'd just done, and the impact it would have on my life.

However, I was asleep in seconds.

I was just _that_ tired.

8 -

The heavy perfume of the darkly draped room shocked my senses. I sat opposite her, staring at the deck that was beside her hand. I looked nervously down at my thirteen year old ones. God. How embarrassing.

'I don't really know how tarot works,' I said nervously.

The eccentric woman before me nodded demurely. 'You need not know,' she smiled in an enigmatic fashion. Silk adorned her head, and her face was strongly made-up with dramatic lipstick, eyeliner, what not. 'I only want to show you three cards.'

I shrugged. Gina was waiting for me outside. We still had to go on the roller coaster. It was the only good ride at this stupid carnival.

And she intended to take my guy-shopping, right after that.

The woman's fingers carefully shuffled her card pile. Then, she plucked three, one by one, and lay them before me, face down.

She turned the first one over.

'The Hermit,' she smiled. 'You _speak to the dead_, my child.'

I forgot my shock.

Her second card was upturned. A skeleton stared gauntly back at me.

Her hand came over the third, lying mysteriously beneath her long, fake red nailed fingers.

When she carefully lifted it to her face, she gasped.

'The Lovers,' she said in a hissed voice that confused me. The aroma of the small room was making my head spin.

. . . Lovers?

'Your love,' she said, 'You love has taken a different path.'

Although, it mustn't have been that important.

Because she promptly _tore the card in two._

And then she slid the first piece behind the other, and tore them again.

The image of the entangled man and woman had been desecrated.

_Ended._

I stared.

What strange behaviour.

Furthermore . . . the two pieces of the card burst into flame.

The fire got bigger and bigger. It started consuming the heavy drapery. The hot, smoking flames reached out for me, desiring only to claim me in their hellish wrath. The woman dissolved from view in a curl of fire. The perfume smell was suffocating me.

_Fire surrounded me. _

_I felt hot. _

_I felt small._

_I felt ignored._

_I felt out of control._

_I felt scared of myself._

_I felt that I had created the fire. _

_I felt like I couldn't stop it._

_I felt responsible. _

_I felt angry. _

_I felt betrayed. _

_I felt bloodthirsty. _

_I felt out of character._

_I wanted vengeance. _

_I wanted conclusion. _

_I wanted it to stop . . . _

In alarm, I ran . . .

. . . And I was running down that endless hall of the Shadowland. The doors didn't stop. They – they went on forever. I could run but they'd never stop.

I was drowning from the endless hallway.

The floor was sliding from beneath my feet.

_I tripped._

_I screamed._

_I fell . . . _

And I woke up.


	22. Show Time

**We are so, so, so sorry.**

**SO, SO, SO, SO, SO SORRY!**

**No, REALLY. Like, REALLY sorry. **

- 8 -

With a loud gasp, I sat up in my bed, my hand on my heart.

I was sweating. My forehead was damp. I felt clammy, and hot, and my – my _covers_ were – _twisted_ –

Breathing hard, looked around and –

'Oh,' I said in shock, 'Hi.'

Bart Ford was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking concerned. I could feel the dip his weight had caused in the mattress. 'Nightmares?' he asked me.

I nodded. 'Just a bit.'

He gave me an empathetic look. 'I know what you mean,' he murmured. 'You should have seen what I used to dream about.'

Somehow, I believed that the seventeen year old young man should keep his night time fantasies to himself.

I shrugged it off, and lay back, calming my breathing down. 'What are you doing here, anyway?' I questioned.

'Well,' he gave me a guilty look, 'Your cowboy was not here. And you should not be alone.'

_. . . You'll never be alone_ . . .

'Well,' I said, 'He needed to look out for my friends. At least I can see someone if they're gonna try and kill me. They can't.'

'But ghosts can make more contact with you,' Bart reasoned. 'They can do more damage.'

Was he even _at_ the graveyard thing? Do I need to remind him that his _buddies_ were, in fact, able to pummel my friends?

'Whatever,' I dismissed, 'Well . . . you can go now . . . '

He looked a little guiltier still. 'Oh, no. I never leave. I always watch over you, what with Robin as mad as he is at you.'

I blanched. 'A-a-always?'

SHOWER TIME? When I was in the buff!

There's a difference between being protective and being a peeping Tom. Bartie-boy was walking the fine line there.

He must have seen where I was going. 'Oh – no, I mean – not – not when you're – _dressing_ or something – ' He blushed ferociously. 'I wouldn't do that – '

'I know,' I smiled. 'Calm down.'

I noticed how Bart was really set apart from the other Misfortunates. I mean, not only was he the youngest, shortest, and most blonde of the bunch, he was also the nicest and shyest. His noble humility was so endearing, that you couldn't help but smile at him. He had good intentions; he just hung around with the wrong crowd.

It kind of makes me wonder how he got stuck with those hell-raisers in the first place.

That's the thing about Bart: sure he seemed like a simple boy. But there was something mysterious about him. Like he was hiding some big secret behind his small physique and floppy blonde hair. Maybe there was more to him than I think…

Well, I didn't get to find out then because he stood up. 'I'm always here. I watch you from where you – or Robin – can't see me. When your cowboy isn't watching. Just in case.'

I guess that's kind of cute. I mean, in a totally weird sort of way. It kind of made me wonder whose side he was really on. He seemed to want me alive while his little pals . . . well, didn't.

I nodded. 'Then thank you.'

He looked at my curiously, as if something was bugging him. 'Susie? Can I – can I ask you something?'

For some reason, I was able to ignore the Susie-thing. 'Uh huh. Sure,' I replied.

He looked sideways. 'It's about you and the cowboy – '

'His name's Jesse.'

'Oh, I know that,' he said quickly.

'Right.'

'Well . . . what happened between the two of you?'

I went rather red. 'Er . . . were you watching then, too?'

He mumbled a 'No-mayb-yeah.'

In other words: yes.

Okay. Now I felt sort of humiliated. 'Just,' I said weirdly, 'Um . . . well, back when . . . I mean, I was only sixteen . . . we just – then he . . . I loved him but now I don't,' I shrugged. 'That's really all there is to it.'

'You loved a ghost?' Bart said incredulously. '_Why?_'

Good question.

Bart had crinkled his nose in mild disgust for a moment, which was kind of weird. His little friends didn't seem to have a problem with ghost/human interaction. What was _his_ deal?

'It just happened,' I said quietly. 'Neither of us could really stop it.'

'Why don't you love him anymore? Did he do something to you?'

'No,' I said quickly. 'We just . . . lost touch, you could say. And I forgot about him.'

More or less.

'Oh,' Bart said. 'There was something else I wanted to ask you.'

'Shoot.'

'Yesterday . . . in the graveyard, how did you do that?'

'What?' I asked stupidly, realizing that of course he meant the whole blowing-up-headstones thing.

'Oh, that,' I said. 'God, not even I know. I was just scared that your friends might have killed MY friends.'

Bart, this time, looked a little more than mildly disgusted. 'They're not my friends,' he denied quite openly, shaking his head. 'We just happened to die in the same room.'

For some reason, this piece of information was not as assuring as you might think. I think it was the way he said it, with a sort of hidden malice for these guys. I couldn't tell whether or not to brush it off or take him seriously.

'Right,' I said unsurely. I looked at my watch.

3AM.

Stupid dream . . . pfft . . .

I rolled back over.

'Goodnight,' Bart said quietly and nervously. 'I'm still here . . . '

– 8 -

When I woke up the following morning, as in, NORMAL waking up time, and NOT 3am, Bart was gone. Well, at least I couldn't see him. But he was probably still there.

How embarrassing.

I went and had a shower, due to feeling all sticky from my sweaty awakening the previous night after that dream, and pulled a pair of faded Calvin Klein jeans on, and a red turtleneck.

Even though Bart assured me he wasn't spying on me while I took showers, I still felt a little weird about the whole thing. Bart may not have been watching me, but it kind of made me wonder who else was.

I blow-dried my hair as per tradition, and then I went downstairs, my heart and mind half weighed down by what had taken place last night between me and a certain Mr de Silva.

When I got down to the kitchen, I was surprised to see that everyone – minus Dani – was already down there, dressed and fed, looking very anxious.

'Hey,' I said as I walked in. CeeCee looked up at me with a half-smile. Her hand was in Adam's.

'Hey,' she said back. 'You ready to go?'

I frowned. 'Huh?'

Adam gave me a funny look. 'The hospital. Remember?'

I was confused. I stopped, and looked around. Paul was looking very uncomfortable, and Jack looked rather terrified. They were at opposite ends of the kitchen, not looking at each other. I guess the fire was still burning down between them.

'What do you mean, hospital?' I demanded, my heart starting to thud. And with good reason. Hospitals have never been good news with me. My dad was pronounced dead at a hospital. My girlish fantasy of true-love was shattered in a hospital. See what I mean?

CeeCee's eyebrow raised. 'You were there, you heard Father Dom's doctor talking to you.'

WHAT WAS GOING ON? I don't remember that . . .

'Eeeeeeeeeelaborate?' I begged.

'Father D's got surgery today,' Adam informed me, sounding slightly annoyed. 'Weren't you listening?'

I just stood there. Uh . . .

I guess I'd spaced out that night when Father Dom had told us about his tumor. I hadn't been thinking clearly. I couldn't. I was too busy trying to calm down long enough and find a way to brace myself for when Dommy kicked the bucket to get the gory details of it all. I guess I hadn't retained the information of this very important date, either. 'Erm . . . sorry, I must have missed that bit,' I mumbled.

Paul clearly snorted. Which was REALLY rude of him.

'Shut up,' I snapped.

'Well,' CeeCee said loudly, 'Father D was scheduled for today. They're going to try and surgically remove the tumor from his head. And we're going to be late if you don't hurry up, Suze.'

'Right,' I said quietly. 'Okay . . . '

Adam started making me cereal, but I stopped him. 'I'm not hungry,' I said quickly.

Because suddenly, I wasn't.

I REALLY wasn't.

Which is weird. Because I hadn't eaten last night either.

Paul looked at me firmly. He seemed to have noticed my lack-of-hunger last night as well. 'Eat something,' he commanded me in a needle-sharp tone. 'You didn't touch dinner last night, and you had a full-blown power-out yesterday in the graveyard.'

'I don't feel like e – '

Paul walked over to the bench briskly, seized the cereal from Adam and started pouring it determinedly. Why the hell was he worried about my STOMACH at a time like this? There's other things to worry about like – oh I dunno – Father Dom's brain.

'Paul,' I said, trying to jerk him out of his breaky-making stupor, 'Paul, I'm not going to have it anyway, so don't bother – '

He finished the bowl, shoved a clean spoon into the milk, and jammed it in front of me on the table. He then whispered furiously in my ear, 'Eat it, Simon. Don't you _dare_ be like her.'

And he left the kitchen.

I was stunned. I really, really was.

But I ate the gay cereal.

. . . Because I knew exactly what he meant.

– 8 -

Me, CeeCee, Paul, Adam, Jack and Jesse were all standing in the reception of the hospital. It was so white, and clean, and cold, and impersonal. It kind of reminded me of Paul's grandfather's house, except without the cheesy modern décor. It was horrible. I felt kind of sick. I really shouldn't have had that cereal. I mean, I needed food, yeah, but the milk had done me no good. I felt like puking it back up anyway, but I didn't, pretty much for Paul's sake.

Never thought I'd be doing anything for PAUL, but there you go.

CeeCee was talking with the receptionist. Jack was avoiding Paul's eye. Adam was looking into space, with an expressionless look on his face. And Jesse kept staring at me, but looking away whenever I noticed.

Everything was really tense.

When a doctor – Dr. Saunders – came out to talk to us, he pretty much just talked to CeeCee and Paul. After all, they were the only two who would really understand what he was going on about. I mean, Paul's dad was a doctor, and CeeCee…well, she knew everything.

Paul was nodding and looking serious, and CeeCee's face got blanker with each word, in attempts of detachment.

When he was done, he looked over at all of us. 'You can see him now, if you please. It must be very brief, though, we have to get him prepped for surgery.'

I stood up immediately, as did Jack. Adam was still looking very lost. Like CeeCee had just rejected his marriage proposal or something.

Which she never would.

But if she ever DID, he'd probably look something like that.

We followed Dr. Saunders down the echoing corridor of white. It was seriously one shade. Even the doctor's hair was white. And his shirt.

His clipboard was black, though.

When we got to Father Dominic's room, the first thing I noticed that his hands were shaking.

. . . Oh, God . . .

I rushed in there and threw my arms around him. 'I'm sorry,' I said quickly, 'I'm sorry I was mad at you, I'm so sorry . . .'

The second thing I noticed was that his eyes were in fact, closed. They opened quickly when a half-blubbering girl leapt at him, though.

'Susannah,' he said warmly, and his arms came awkwardly around my shoulders. 'It's . . . it's quite all right – '

I pulled away from him as my SIA colleagues filed into the room, standing back and looking very dead.

Jack then came over and gave Father Dom a big hug, too.

Which was the sweetest thing.

A grateful, pained smile broke out on Father Dom's tired face. It looked pasty, and pale.

And more wrinkly than I had ever seen it.

'Hello Jack,' he said to the thirteen-year-old who was embracing him. 'Yes . . . that's enough – '

I yanked Jack back. Poor Father Dom had been subject to the Slater strength.

'H-how are you?' Jack asked a bit shakily. I obviously wasn't the only one a little disturbed about seeing Father Dom like this. Only, Jack wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to his emotions. I, on the other hand, kept them all inside until they bubbled over dangerously. Now, more than ever, I felt like my heart might explode from all of it.

Father Dom gave Jack a weak smile and replied, 'I have been better.'

Oh, _that _was assuring. Not.

I couldn't understand how he managed to smile at a time like this. From the solemn expression on Paul and CeeCee's face, I could judge that this surgery was very serious. You didn't even need a doctor to tell you that Father Dom wasn't at his best. He looked so pale, and his eyes were sunken in . . . it kind of reminded me of a living skeleton.

And you won't believe this: they shaved off his hair. Father Dominic's pure-pure-as-snow hair. It used to be so white and fluffy, like a heavenly cloud. I remember the first time I ever gave Father Dominic a hug when Jesse got exorcised that one time . . . I remember how it felt like cotton candy on my cheek as I wept hysterically.

But now it was gone. All of it shaved off. And I still felt like crying hysterically, but I didn't.

His skin was so pale on the top of his head it was almost transparent. I could see the veins.

I really regret eating that cereal now.

I swallowed back something that was hard, prickly, and painful.

Similar to a ball of wire, most likely.

I guess I didn't really know what to say. This sight . . . it was one of the most horrible I'd seen, and probably ever would see.

Seriously. It was heart-rip-out-able. Pretty much the same caliber of what I did to Jesse. It was THAT heart-breaking.

I was kind of startled when I heard a deep, soothing voice say, 'It's time.'

I looked over my shoulder, only to see that Dr. Saunders had wandered back into the room. I hadn't even noticed that he left in the first place, but then again I was a little more than distracted.

Adam stood a little closer to the hospital bed. 'I don't know what to say at a time like this, Padre. What do you say to someone going under the knife? I mean, I guess . . . I guess I can wish you good luck,' Adam said with a nervous chuckle.

Father Dominic smiled and said, 'Thank you, Adam. But I think your prayers will make me feel much better.'

'I know,' Jack piped in, 'Maybe we should all pray right now. Like, join hands and say something quick. All of us together.'

. . . How fast should I run, exactly?

No. Really.

'That sounds like a good idea, Jack,' CeeCee responded, her voice a little shaky. I think for a moment, she forgot that she was an atheist . . . that seeing was believing to her.

Well, if that was the case, then why was she praying? Even if she did believe, God certainly wasn't right there. Otherwise, none of this would be happening, especially to His faithful servant Father Dominic.

But, sure enough, she slid her hand into Jack's, and Adam slipped his into hers. Paul took Jack's other hand, and Jesse stood near Father Dom's bed. Dr. Saunders stood a respectable distance away.

Paul, looking rather wry, held offered me his hand, but I didn't take it. This whole thing was stupid. I'd be wasting my time, because obviously God doesn't hear me.

'Er . . . Suze?' Paul said.

'There's no point,' I told him.

'But Suze,' Jack pleaded, 'Father Dom said – '

'Prayer might make Father Dom feel better,' I said, backing away slowly, 'but it never did me an ounce of good. Go ahead. I think I'll just watch.'

Everyone closed their eyes reverently, except for Father Dom, who gave me a withering look. He wouldn't have any of it.

'Susannah, please,' he pleaded, with his dull blue eyes drooping. 'Please do this for me.'

I felt my heart – not to mention my entire world – shatter right there. I couldn't stand to let Father Dominic down . . . not after all the times he was there for me. It was my turn to be there for him.

'Fine,' I sighed, 'I'll do it.'

I took Paul's hand reluctantly, and tried not to look down at Father Dom. I just kept telling myself I was doing this for him.

'I would like it very much, Susannah, if you led us,' Father Dom requested weakly.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa, I said I'd pray, but I never said I'd – '

'Please, Susannah,' was all he said.

I bit my lower lip to keep myself from crying. I took a deep breath, and tried to find something worthy to say. I mean, the Big Guy has a lot of stuff to take care of. Somehow, Dommy made it on the lower end of the To-Do list, just like me.

'Um God,' I faltered, 'I know you're out there somewhere. I've never been really good at this whole praying thing, you know. I'm part Jewish, part Catholic, so I guess that makes me . . . confused. Doubtful. Whatever. But it doesn't matter how I feel about You right now. All I know is, there's one guy here that's depending on you a whole lot. Please, please, don't let him down.'

I paused, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. My eyes were stinging, and my nose felt all prickly, meaning the waterworks were about to flow abundantly from my eyes.

I hung my head down and finished my prayer, 'Don't . . . don't let _me_ down.'

And then I started crying.

I felt a strong hand come down on my shoulder. I looked at it, and realized it was just Jesse's attempt to be supportive. He couldn't hold my hand or anything, because of Dr. Saunders. That'd look weird, you know? Holding an invisible guy's hand, I mean.

After what I'd done to Jesse, he still supported me. That little known fact only caused more tears to stream down my face, which was so frustrating. And then everyone else had to make it all worse by saying their little 'amens' and making it seem all final.

Well, except for Paul. He just squeezed my hand firmly, and didn't say anything.

And, well, that made me cry too.

How come I can't control _anything_? What was wrong with me?

Angrily, I ripped my hand from Paul's and tossed Jesse's hand away from my shoulder. I turned to face the wall . . . anywhere but looking down at Father Dom.

And then, we were all asked to move aside, as two nurses came either side of his bed and wheeled it away, one of them holding onto his drip.

8 -

'Where's Dani?' I asked CeeCee blandly. All we were doing was sitting and waiting. I was seriously thanking Paul for making me eat that morning. Because I was starving now. God knows what I would have been like if I had have just kept going from yesterday onwards without food?

Ghastly.

'Apparently, she's out with this underwear model friend,' CeeCee shrugged.

'So she went out to have a jolly good time with His Royal Gayness rather than be here Father Dom while his head gets cut into?' I demanded coldly, 'God. I hate her, I really do.'

'Well, think about it,' CeeCee said fairly. 'She's the only one in the SIA who is currently not completely bummed out at the moment.'

Ha. Let's thank God that her British friend Miles is very gay, otherwise she may very WELL have been bummed out.

If you know what I mean.

'But it's – it's _disrespectful_,' I scowled.

'She doesn't know Father Dominic like we do,' CeeCee replied.

'Why are you defending her?' I asked viciously, shooting a cutting look at her.

She sighed impatiently. 'I'm _not_,' she replied. 'I'm just saying, she doesn't technically have an emotional obligation to be here.'

And _Paul Slater_ does? He barely even spoke ten words to Father Dom while he was at school. He was too busy being Mr. High-and-mighty, you know, being the Tennis Captain and Prom king and all. He was the epitome of Mr. Popularity back then.

Speaking of which, SOMEONE'S cell phone just went off in the hospital waiting room. Someone who'd obviously ignored the "PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CELL PHONES AS IT INTERFERES WITH OUR EQUIPMENT" sign near the Triage nurse's desk.

Me and CeeCee stared across the room as Paul quickly dragged the little cell phone out of his pocket, and was all, 'Slater.'

Hahaha. He answers with just his last name. What a retard. Like he _expects_ people to know who he was or something.

Yeah. As opposed to my, 'Um . . . hi.'

Shut up.

A darkish look came onto his face as he was listening to whoever was talking on the other line. At one stage, he looked intently over at me with someone of shocked guilt, and then he looked away hurriedly. 'Let me see if they have a copy here,' he growled quietly, before quickly going to the Triage nurse and asking her something. She smiled brightly, and produced a newspaper for him. Paul went back to his seat, said a, 'I've got it,' into his phone, and then hung up.

Then he began reading avidly, paling at each word, and then his face went rather read in anger.

Me and CeeCee were staring in fascination. Wow. I never seen a face change so many colors.

Hmm. Paul, the Technicolor dreamboat. Teehee.

After about two minutes, he started swearing at the newspaper, before crumpling it up with some anger. Then, he stood up, shot me a deadly glare, and announced to me and CeeCee, 'I'm going to take Jack now and go.'

'Why?' I asked.

He looked sideways. His eyes were looking like they could kill someone.

. . . Laser vision? Please? Because that would mean that I could do it too. And laser vision would rock the world –

'None of your business,' he spat in a quiet anger at me.

Um . . . okay.

When Jack came back then, with a bag of chips in his hand that he'd just bought from some vending machine, Paul grabbed his arm and said, 'We have to go, Jack.'

Jack looked up at him questioningly. 'Why?'

Ha. Wonder if Paul would NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! him too?

'I'll tell you in a second,' Paul snapped, and then they were both gone.

Me and CeeCee looked at each other. Adam had nodded off beside CeeCee. Apparently, he was really tired. And sore.

I would like, for my own sanity, to believe that he was sore at his pelvis region because of, um, the whole nearly-getting-killed-by-a-million-tonnes-of-dirt-yesterday thing, and hopefully NOT an aftermath of the marriage proposal.

. . . Eww.

I stood up, and went over to where Paul had just been sitting. Then, I slid the newspaper from the seat, and carefully sat down, unfolding the pages –

Whoa. _Dani_.

I stared in shock.

It was all about Danielle Moore. Apparently, that McDonalds employee guy had gone to the press with his photo and had told them about how she'd caused him to lose his job and stuff. And the SAME GUY, Steve Lawson, had followed the (living) members of the SIA (excluding Jack and Father D,) to that Club Peacock, and he had been taking pictures on his STUPID digital camera. There were a bunch of pictures everywhere. Her, her and Paul, her at McDonalds, her at the bar, one of her and Miles with Adam and CeeCee in the background . . .

And then there was one of me and Paul dancing.

Oh my God.

I swallowed my heart, and choked on it violently as I read the caption:

_Dani's Paul Slater (boyfriend) getting too friendly with another woman only known as "Suze". Perhaps there's trouble in paradise for Miss Moore?_

CeeCee had come to sit next to me, after watching my facial expressions also. When she saw the photos, she was all, ' . . . Whoa.'

I blinked, wide-eyed at the photos. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Whoa.'

In the article, I was mentioned briefly. Apparently, someone had caught up with that loser Ben guy, and I was now a "flirtatious, conniving little New Yorker, out to ruin the Britain's hottest supermodel's fairy tale romance."

I was on the very of laughing and vomiting. I mean . . . CONNIVING? Me? I think they got the wrong girl.

HAHA – Oh, Jeez.

CeeCee looked at the newspaper in disgust. 'It's a load of crap,' she said confidently. 'Don't worry about it, Suze.'

Easier said than done. I wasn't just a whore to Paul anymore…I was to _everyone_.

8 -

About one or two hours after that, Jesse finally dematerialized to me, and asked me if I might accompany him on a stroll. I nodded gently, and we both left the hospital to promenade around the perimeter.

'So,' I said softly. 'What, then?'

Jesse had been in the operating theatre, observing everything. How he can BEAR to watch someone's head being cut up, I have no idea.

But then again, he had apparently wanted to be a doctor. So I don't know. I really don't.

Jesse nodded graciously, and said, 'I'm afraid it appears that . . . the surgeons were discussing it . . . they may not have been able to remove all of the cancerous matter in his cerebrum.'

I stopped walking, and gave him a you're-not-serious look.

SEE? SEE WHAT I MEAN ABOUT PRAYER? IT DOES _NOTHING_.

It's all CRAP, and it makes people BELIEVE that God is listening when REALLY he doesn't give a flying TOSS about who lives or dies because - more than likely - he doesn't EXIST but sometimes it's NICE to believe that God exists so you can finally pinpoint blame on a HIGHER BEING.

Jesse sighed. 'I'm sorry Susannah. I'm very sorry.'

I looked away rather quickly, at the grass that was below my feet. It was brown.

Guess our stinking PRAYER only made it to God's answering machine. And it didn't matter if he "got back to us later" because the damage had been done. The surgery was a flop.

'That is not to say that this operation was not successful,' Jesse assured me hurriedly. 'The tumor was removed. It just appears that there is other cancer that has spread through his brain. It can be cured, Susannah.'

I gave him a rather sarcastic, depressive look. 'Uh huh,' I muttered. 'Okay, so what now then?'

'I believe that a Sister Ernestine was called today,' Jesse said. 'She has told surgeons that she is raising money for the radiation therapy - '

'Money?' I said suddenly, 'Hang on there - will Father Dom not have this operation if we don't get MONEY for it?'

Jesse looked glum. 'Men who have been called to the Lord do not get paid very much, Susannah. It is their vocation. They are cared for by the Church. They give up all luxuries in their life for their God. And I believe that Padre has this . . . insurance that this modern day speaks of so much.'

FATHER DOM DIDN'T HAVE INSURANCE. OH MY GOD. HE COULDN'T AFFORD THE OPERATION-Y THINGIE.

'What then?' I asked, panicky, 'I mean - how much does it cost?'

Jesse looked perplexed. 'I haven't a clue,' he said sorrowfully. 'I only know what Padre's surgeons discuss.'

I sighed, as we began walking back to the hospital's entrance. This probably appeared funny; a girl pacing by herself and talking to thin air, occasionally stopping in shock, then looking stressed out suddenly.

Seriously. It's a wonder that I haven't been checked for schizophrenia.

I'm your modern day Gollum.

. . . Yay.

Except unlike Gollum, (and Dani,) I do not have an obsession with a ring.

Jesse said very slowly, 'So . . . how did you sleep last night, Susannah?'

Hah. That could have been a VERY good way to start a nice fat guilt trip.

YEAH, HOW DID YOU MANAGE, QUERIDA? AFTER YOU DISINTEGRATED MY PREVIOUSLY DISINTEGRATED HEART? NO, TELL ME, I WANNA KNOW.

I mumbled quietly, 'Fine.'

He was silent for a moment. 'Susannah . . . you must tell me . . . where do we stand?'

I suddenly realized that being alone with Jesse after what I'd done to him last night? Yeah, not such a hot idea.

I gave him a pleading sideways look for him to drop it, one which he made a point of missing.

'You tell me,' I said.

'I could not say that, or it would only serve to embarrass myself,' he responded quietly.

Right.

I stopped again, making all the schizophrenia hunters scream, "THERE! ATTACK!"

'Look,' I muttered.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

And I'm sorry, but again I had to look away.

'We're . . . we're friends,' I said. 'I mean . . . that's what we were originally, right? Friends?'

This was obviously what he had known he would hear, but not what he had been WANTING to hear. He gave me a small smile. 'Oh,' he said. 'Yes. Friends, Susannah.'

Although, it's kind of hard when one friend is in love with the other.

_Nothing hurts more than flesh burned, than love that remains unreturned._

CeeCee had made that up when we were in twelfth grade, about Adam.

Haha. Very cute, Cee.

Very true.

So, as we reached the hospital doors, Jesse stopped me before I went inside, and murmured softly to me, 'Know this, then Susannah. You have a friend who desperately loves you.'

Then he gave me a soft kiss on my forehead, and dematerialized.

. . . Oh, God . . . WHY did he do that?

Feeling giddy and sick with guilt, I went back inside.

CeeCee - and Adam, who was now awake - we copping the news from Dr. Saunders, in detail. Their faces were masks of grimness, and when they saw me, they were like a sea of sad-clown faces.

'Suze, the doctor just told us that - '

'I know already,' I said flatly. 'Jesse told me.'

Father Dom was not better. He was NOT on his way to recovering.

I'm sorry, but I had a BIG problem with that.

HOW COULD THE DOCTORS HAVE NOT SEEN THAT FATHER DOM DIDN'T NEED SURGERY, BUT THIS RADIO-THINGIE INSTEAD?

Is this a pack of DUMBASSES?

I mean . . . REALLY. That was a man's life. Just because he's a PRIEST and he doesn't have INSURANCE coverage, mistakes are ACCEPTABLE, are they?

"Doctor, he didn't need to have his head slit open. It wasn't strictly necessary."

"Meh. Just a priest."

"Oh, cool."

IS THAT HOW CONVERSATIONS GO AT THIS DICKHEADED HOSPITAL?

Because that's RUDE.

I voiced a select version of this to CeeCee, and she told me that Father Dom WOULD have needed surgery anyway, because the tumor wasn't just going to go away from his radiotherapy.

I was like, 'Oh.'

I wanted to see Father Dominic again, to see how he was . . . but he was unconscious, apparently. Knocked out by the anaesetic.

So there was nothing more to do but leave.

. . . So we did.

8 -

By the time I got back to Fortunaschwein, I felt well on the way to having a status of dead.

And not in a ghost way, either.

A ghost has preservations of his previous humanity. He still feels, still thinks, and as demonstrated by our Mr de Silva, still falls in love.

However, a corpse does none of those things. A corpse is really, truly dead. It is still, and unfeeling, and cold.

I felt like one of those.

Father Dom's surgery had more or less gone down the toilet. I mean . . . all of that had been for basically nothing. He STILL had his tumor scattered all over his stupid holy brain.

And they SHAVED his holy HEAD.

Everything was the pits. Jesse was acting strangely around me, as if suddenly, he didn't even deserve to look at me or something.

Hah. I think that he's got the roles a little mixed up.

I felt awful about what I'd done to him. As I've said, I knew only too well the pain of heart ache. It was no fun triggering this torture upon another.

Even if it had to be done.

. . . The aftermath of breaking a physically non-existent heart was so silent.

But it twisted my mind like any scream could.

As soon as I walked in the school, the first thing I heard was a yell.

Me, Cee, and Adam stopped dead.

'JACK?' I screamed, a fresh wave of hot, sick horror overtaking my senses. I could recognize that yell from anywhere, especially since I could still recognize it from the first day dumbwaiter incident. It was loud, urgent, and unbearable to hear.

Then, I pelted in the direction of the yell.

'I said get AWAY from him!' Paul's commanding, furious voice roared from the distance of the corridor.

My feet pounded hard on the ancient wood planks beneath me. Jack was wailing for help, and I felt my corpsification had been resurrected to a dark world, again.

This was what this school was about now.

Sadistic fun.

At the expense of the living.

I reached the origin of such terrified shouts. It was a classroom, and a large, black bookshelf had been shoved against the wall, although was not RIGHT against it. I room realized this because there was a hand peaking out the corner of it, where I could hear Jack begging his brother for help.

A sick feeling plowed through my stomach, and a protest was born and killed in my throat.

'Paul - ' I felt the need to alert him of my arrival.

Paul, standing still in the centre of the room, turned his head rapidly towards me, 'Get OUT of here!'

A violent squeal from Jack told me that the bookshelf had just been thrust against him again in a crushing manner.

Oh my GOD.

'Let him go!' I screamed at the invisible presence in the room, which was asphyxiating my shifting abilities all over again.

There was an adolescent snigger, which echoed immaturity as much as a darker, deeper danger that chilled me to the bone.

Jack was begging to be released. They were CRUSHING him -

'Suze!' he half-cried, 'Make them st - AAAAAH - '

Paul was white with rage, and yet he didn't know what to do. He stood there, his hands shaking and his forehead slick with sweat. He was at his worst…he was absolutely powerless, thanks to shifter-block.

I had to do something, but I knew better than to bargain with these schoolboys again. Who knows what they might make me do next?

'If you don't STOP, what I did to the graveyard yesterday is going to look an Easter egg hunt!' I threatened in the strongest, most convincing voice I could.

I had to shield the fear that laced my voice.

The snickering stopped.

And then the bookshelf fell forward, revealing a half pulverized Jack who fell to the ground the minute there was nothing to support him.

Instantaneously, me and Paul bolted over to him and dragged him to a sitting position, and before I could see how BAD the wound on his head was, Paul pulled him into a taut hug that made Jack burst into tears.

Shakily, I edged back, and observed just how tightly Paul was holding his little brother. It was like nothing happened between them before.

'They – they – ' Jack attempted, but another fit of uncontrollable sobs snatched his voice.

And I don't know. Something so intoxicatingly enraging in his voice made me realize . . . these boys had not only attempted to murder two of my best friends . . . but they had just tried to kill a little boy who COULDN'T defend himself.

And that made me snap.

To know . . . it had just been because they were BORED -

I stood up, in a dizzy wave of fury. 'That's it,' I growled.

Then I exited the room with Jack demanding to know, 'What's it!'

I heard Paul calling after me, 'Suze! Suze, come back! I know what you're going to - Suze, DON'T - '

Ha. You think I listened to HIM?

Yeah. Right.

It was things like this that truly reminded me that I was not dead, and buried. The dead, whose souls do not linger on this plane of existence, do NOT feel what I felt then.

An undeniable rage that demanded immediate action.

How could you punish someone who was already dead?

Why . . . break the rules set out by the priest, of course.

What did HE know, anyway? Obviously that tumor in his brain clouded his judgement GREATLY. This all would have been a LOT faster if I had have just done my OWN thing as soon as my life was first attempted on. Or, you know, Jack's. I mean . . . what could Father Dom do after I'd done it, anyway?

. . . You can't undo exorcism.

Unless you're a shifter, that is.

But honestly. Why WOULD we go and bring them back? They were life-endangering.

They didn't DESERVE to share this realm with those who had not croaked yet.

And it was this driving force that guided me to the library. The books appeared ever daunting, and the dust seemed to be a plague of locust rather than just . . . dust.

I felt buzzing in my ears. Of angry, angry things.

In an auto-pilot directed by this drunken-on-rage sensation, I shoved a chair against the tall shelf that stocked the yearbooks.

I carefully selected 1968, and yanked it down.

Turning the pages stiffly, I saw nothing besides what I'd set out to find. The words and the images of other people were a blur.

I was only looking for three faces.

And the first one I found was Charles Austin.

My hands started shaking as the rage slowly seeped from my mind, to my fingertips. It dissolved into the fluid of my blood, pumping hotly beneath my searing skin, and my eyes went misty from a red that I saw. It penetrated my lungs, making my breath erratic as I tore the paper where his stupid face grinned up at me. I made the square of his head neat. Not that he deserved it.

One down . . . two to go.

With something of savagery now, I ripped the pages over rapidly, taking no heed that they were historical documents of this school.

Screw the school . . . these guys deserved this all.

My eyes homed in on Nathaniel Blake's arrogant smirk, as he stood among a football team. That page was too ripped out, and his photograph was placed on top of Charlie's.

When I found Robin Lawrence . . . my hot blood reached boiling point. He'd been the one that had dumped the dirt on CeeCee and Adam . . . he'd kicked me, and kissed me, and had threatened me, and had touched me . . . and it was HIM who'd almost done this to Jack. I knew it.

I knew it deep within me.

He was the only real one capable of this.

A roar wanted to come screaming out from my throat.

I reigned it in, though.

With my three pictures, and a Roman Catholic book, and a special bag that I had grabbed out of my room, I went up to the attic.

. . . _Show time._

The doorknob, once again, felt crumbly beneath my fingertips. Burnt. I got a thrill of something horrible that shot up my left arm. It was hot, and quick, and painful. With intensified fury, I yanked the door open with a sharp breath, and looked up the stairs as they gaped down at me, looking to swallow me whole.

My hands were shaking, as my right hand clutched the three photographs of the ones who had to go, and Father Dominic's book. The charred steps smelt damp and strong. The eternal odor of smoke, ash, and death. The wood that made up the floor was useless. Again, I breathed in, and held the air in my lungs prisoner. Then I climbed the stairs slowly, which was weird seeing that inside I felt like screaming and running.

And when I was in the attic, I looked around. My hair fell limply around my face. I was breathing hard, by now, and I didn't know why. I got another flash of the side of Jack's face. It was recoverable . . . but that was just a physical manifestation of the hidden cruelty within those three boys.

I mean . . . okay, yeah. They had died. Maybe at least Robin had been killed. Maybe the others suicided. Maybe it was an accident. I don't _know_. But I DO know that they have NO RIGHT to take it out on the living.

On _Jack_ . . .

The floor was black, and the crisped planks of wood looked ashy and dark. Through the window seeped in strange afternoon light. The weather outside was being weird.

It was cold.

And foggy. So unlike the sunny, cheery Gilroy I knew.

I sank to my knees slowly, and placed the photos of three of the Misfortunates. Charlie, Robbie, and Nathan grinned back at me toothily, the essence of life and opportunity.

But the souls of these three boys were twisted. They were monsters. There was something about them . . . it went much deeper than almost killing my friends, or trying to crush Jack for NO REASON.

No, there was something about them that made me realize . . . they were much more than a couple of dead eighteen year olds. Maybe they were normal when they died.

But they have been in this school for, as they said, almost fifty years or something.

And this school isn't the nicest place to haunt.

Cliché, maybe.

But from the ghost's point of view?

Well . . . if a dead spirit still had the capacity to go insane, they would.

And since ghosts can't technically undergo any psychological alternations within the supernatural preservation of their brain, well . . . they go to the closest thing to insanity. And if they were alive, and in that stage . . . one little thing would tip them over that edge.

Make them cross that line.

Point of no return.

My eyelids compressed as I stared at the three boys, captured in time. It was their own fault. This realm was not theirs. If THEY couldn't behave, then they had to go.

After that, I placed my little bag down on the floor also, and opened up the drawstring. Then, I collected the twenty incense candles from within it, and placed them in a large circle. My hands shook as I did so, and I didn't know why.

There was no box of matches in the bag, I realized in annoyance.

But then again . . . I'm a shifter. Who needs a little red-tipped twig?

With as much concentration, I narrowed my eyes at the very first candle, focusing on the hate that was building up inside of me.

Hate: a special kind of love given to those who suck.

_Go on . . . ignite, you stupid lump of scented wax - _

The tip of the wick flickered, and lit up, swaying in the non existent breeze. I narrowed my eyes more, and in slow sequence, the other nineteen candles were lit, one by one . . .

I felt a small spurt of that untapped power, again, making the twentieth candle flare something HUGE, so a rush of incense hit my nose, and the wax melted halfway.

When it was controlled, I stared at the perfect ring of twinkling light around me, intended for a dark purpose.

I brushed my hair back behind my ear in frustration, and opened the book, with now continuously shaking hands. Something weird was happening to me. Or . . . _in_ me.

Which sounds really gross, but shut up.

I flicked over the pages, scanning the Latin.

God, where the hell WAS it?

I flicked the pages irately.

. . . Blah, blah, blah –

There.

_Diabolus Expulsum._

Or, you know, your A-grade exorcism. God may not have shown his gratitude for us mediators when he gave us these powers, but he sure gave us something to help. A very efficient recipe for an exorcism that'll truly get the job done.

Well, Father Dom'll be glad to know that it was _Catholic_, at least.

I stopped, and drew in a deep, deep breath. Then, I ran my fingers across the old page, scanning the Latin and familiarizing myself with the pronunciation.

Then I began.

As the words were droning quietly from my lips, monotonous and unbroken, tiny wispy plumes of incense ascended in meanders from the tips of the candles, spiraling up mistily to the roof. The intensity of the incense increased a little as I kept reading. My eyes kept flicking up to the now helix shape of the smoke. More smoke began flooding the room, making me wryly realize that this was not the first time that this room had entertained smoke.

The roof above began to dome from the smoke. I glanced up at it rapidly, reminded of my _own_ exorcism long ago. Oh, God . . . this Roman Catholic stuff is HARD.

Chicken blood is the only way to go.

Then, a half-outraged voice made me hesitate.

'Susie! What are you – you said you wouldn't do – the priest told you not to – '

I kept chanting. I knew the incantation, now. I spun, and waved furiously for Bartholomew Ford to go. He wasn't who I wanted.

He didn't know what I meant. 'Susie, what – '

'GO!' I yelled at him. In that instant, the smoke started dissolving. SHIT. Angrily, I snapped at Bart, 'This isn't for you. It's for – '

'Us?'

My previously hot blood ran cold, as Bart hurriedly dematerialized.

I gradually turned around, and swallowed. Charlie, Nathan, and Robin were situated separately across the wall opposite me, glaring at me through the sinking smoke.

. . . _Shit_.

Oh, oh, oh God . . .

My eyes went wide as I saw the three of them . . . just standing there.

'Now, what do you think you're doing, Susie?' Robin asked in a chiding voice that triggered alarm bells deep within me.

I couldn't respond. I just -

BART RUINED EVERYTHING!

GAWD.

I just remained on my knees, frozen, not knowing what to do. The three of them were just smirking at me.

Angrily.

. . . VERY angrily.

I swallowed, very hard. 'Oh,' I said. 'I got new candles. I was testing them out. Yeah . . . they're . . . they're scented like vanilla,' I nodded. 'And - '

'You wouldn't be trying to exorcise us, would you Susie?' Nathan asked me with an arrogant toss of his head.

I shook my head. 'What makes you think that?' I asked.

Charlie acknowledged the almost closed porthole in the roof, leading to the Shadowland.

'Oh,' I said in nervous recognition. 'Yeah, that's a bit of a give-away - '

Robin laughed unkindly; one that shot through my head like a bullet, and then, with the swipe of his finger, all the candles in the circle went out.

'NO!' I yelled, and went to relight them, ala shifter powers, but suddenly, I was flung back REALLY hard against the wall. I yelled, crumpling to the ash.

As I went to stand up, Robin marched to the centre of the room, no trace of a smirk on his face now. It was a palette of complete, utter murder.

There was a fire dancing in his eyes, as if it had never left from the night he'd been killed. Been burned to a crisp. And now he wanted the same thing for me.

I froze again. I mean, if they ALL grabbed my hands, then I could shift with all of them to the Shadowland, somewhere I despised, as once it had taken me three days to wake up after I'd gone! THREE. The headaches were worse these days.

I hadn't been there for months . . .

But if I just shifted with one, or even TWO, that was leaving my unconscious body at risk in the realm of the living.

So I was NOT going to be SHIFTING.

'Look,' I snapped, 'You brought this upon yourself, okay? What you almost did to Jack - OW!'

My hands, by an unseen force, were flung back against the burnt wall, with my elbows bent and my arms flat. The red turtleneck that I was wearing suddenly suffered a, um, RIP, as - again, by their power that I could not see - the woolen fabric was torn from the bottom of the sweater to my midriff.

Oh, God . . .

WHY THE HELL COULDN'T I MOVE?

'We deserve NOTHING that YOU do to us,' Robin spat, stepping up to me wrathfully. 'You come into OUR school and make US leave? I don't think so. And I think we've been far too accommodating up till now.'

Yeah. Right. And that welcoming committee treated us with flower leis and cocktails. Yeeeaah.

All I had to do was get that circle of candles lit . . . then just - just keep chanting. The photos were there, and -

I squinted my eyes at the first candle, willing for it to light.

Come ON -

It flickered, and lit. Then, as I went to spread it again, Robin saw what I was doing.

He laughed furiously. 'You don't give up, do you?' he whipped his head back to me. 'You are NOT GETTING US OUT OF THIS SCHOOL!'

My sweater ripped the rest of the way with a short, sharp tear of the material, and I gasped sharply, as the now separate front halves of the sweater hung uselessly over my bra. I felt mortified. Charlie and Nathan stood behind Robin, focusing each on one of my arms.

Intently.

I started shaking again. I mean . . . exorcisms had gone wrong before. Sure. Heaps of times.

But this was one occasion where . . . well, I didn't see a way out.

They were too POWERFUL.

'STOP IT,' I yelled at him. 'Don't you talk to me like that, you pisshole. You tried to kill my friends. And as far as I'm concerned, you don't merit an invitation to remain on this plane of existence, buddy. Considering that your attitude towards the LIVING has been a little HOSTILE - '

I was spun around by this intense power that was washing over my body like the most corrosive acid. It freaking _burned_.

'OW - '

Robin came right up behind me. 'It seems like such a waste to kill you,' he said in my ear. I was still rendered immobile. I winced as his hands slid to my hips.

'Then DON'T.'

He laughed. 'Pity you're so . . . rebellious.'

That's supposed to be one of my GOOD POINTS.

'Okay,' I tried reasoning, 'If you just maybe stop trying to kill people then maybe - '

Only then, he dematerialized, and suddenly, I heard the ROAR of fire. I spun around, and to my utmost horror, a wall of flame blocked off ANYTHING else in sight.

I admit, I screamed initially. I mean - it was CLOSE, and -

'Ha-ha,' I shouted, 'Nice illusion - '

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! HAND, OWIES, OH MY GOD, IT WAS REAL - OWWW!

'Now you will see what it is like, Susie,' Robin's deadly voice could barely be heard over the toxic fire, 'Burn.'

The waxy candles fell into immediate puddles on the ground, and smoke started gushing into my lungs . . .

I wasn't cut out for this stupid mediator thing . . . I can't handle it.

I can't handle men.

. . . No way . . . none of them . . . they always. . . burned me in the end . . .

YEAH, THANKS FOR BEING FRIGGING LITERAL THIS TIME, PAL.

I tried to control the fire and make it go away, but I was too busy coughing to ATTEMPT concentration and control. My fingertips were searing, and it was HOT -

'STOP IT!' I wailed in fury.

The fire was now so close that, if I didn't shrink against the wall, the licking of the flames would reach me. My skin was wet, and my hands were being coated with black ash.

Oh, God -

And then there was a yell, and the fire went out, and there were no ghosts, no where.

I sank on all fours, coughing my heart out, my dark hair draping the sides of my face. There was smoke in my throat that seemed determined to do me in. I kept coughing, till someone was patting my back, in their attempt to help me breathe again. When I was done, I sucked in the still smoky air sharply, held it, and then released noisily.

'You,' Paul said angrily, 'are a frigging idiot.'

Yeah, thanks. I Noticed.

I started laughing angrily. 'Shut up,' I snapped at him. I looked at Father Dom's book.

It was burnt beyond repair.

Oops.

Paul helped me to stand. He held me under my arms, against his side. I was still coughing weakly. 'What the hell did you think you were doing?' he demanded. I didn't answer. What? What the hell had I done wrong, huh?

It's your every day run-of-the-mill revenge. Simple.

Paul, however, kept pressing. The air smelt so strongly of soot that my eyes were watering. 'Well?'

'You saw what they did to Jack,' I replied, 'I was just - ''Father Dom told you NOT to perform exorcisms - ''Oh, piss off. Don't tell me you weren't about to do the EXACT same thing. I just beat you to it - '

'Actually, I wasn't. You see, Suze, I'm smart. I don't rush into things, and lose my head. I know exactly what I'm doing, and when I'm doing it. And I DON'T almost get myself killed!'

'It was BART'S fault!' I said defensively. 'He showed up and - my incantation was - he made me lose concentration and then the other three turned up - '

'It's not his fault,' Paul snapped. 'It's yours.'

We were finally in the hallway. Oh well, dust was SO much better than smoke. I started taking deeper breaths, and my head wasn't as cloudy. Paul went to kind of let my go, but my stupid kneecaps went all funny, and he quickly grabbed me again before I fell flat on my face when I'm sure he would have enjoyed to laugh at.

'How did you know where I was?' I asked rustily.

He let out a bark of laughter. 'You, Suze, are pretty predictable. I saw the cut outs in the library from the year books. And you're a classic shifter - you're the kind to go to the site of a ghost's death to perform an exorcism.'

OH MY GOD.

Said on my God was a thought that ran though my mind when Paul's eyes fell from my face, to . . . erm . . . lower.

OH MY GOD (again).

WHAT? He STILL looks at my breasts? I thought he got OVER that stage when he was eighteen-_OHMYGOD_ - MY TURTLENECK WAS RIPPED RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE FROM BEFORE, AAAAAAAAAAAH!

'Whoa - ' he looked away in embarrassment. Then he whipped his head back and was all, 'Did THEY do that?'

I folded one section FIRMLY over the other, my face going scarlet. 'Um - yeah, kinda - '

Oh my God . . . Paul Slater just saw my BRA.

Eww.

Things to do before I die: _Kill myself._

Paul's eyes kept flickering down, as if checking to see whether I'd covered myself up or not. Then he was all, ' . . . You wanna go get changed?'

NO. I WANT TO PARADE AROUND THE SCHOOL LIKE THIS.

OF COURSE I WANT TO GO CHANGE, YOU MORON.

I nodded firmly, and pulled away, feeling my knees go all squidgy again. He walked with me towards the room in which I was residing.

I then went inside, and tugged on a purple V neck, and pulled a cardigan over it. It was really cold, all of a sudden. My body had just gone up to an extreme heat, and then I had suddenly froze. I didn't know why. My forehead was still damp from the heat waves of the fire, but now it was more of a cold sweat. I quickly gathered my hair off my face, and pulled it up into a ponytail.

Then I quickly went back out. I thought that Paul would have gone, for some weird reason, but he was still waiting for me. Now that he saw I was fully dressed again, he started getting pissed at me again.

Yeah. I guess he was a little too distracted earlier to get mad at me when I was half-naked. But now that I was fully clothed, he could have it all out without occasionally peeking at my rack.

'Don't try another exorcism,' he warned. 'Because I might not be there next time to save your ass.'

'My ass does not need saving,' I sniffed in disdain. 'My ass is quite capable.'

. . . Okay . . . Suze?

EWWW.

There was no NEED to make suggestions like that when my clothes were practically falling off of me earlier.

Paul gave me a sarcastic look. 'I'm sure it's very capable,' he said, with the ghost of a smirk, 'Just obviously not in the department where you have to not get killed by the haunters of this school.'

Shut up, smelly.

I rolled my eyes. 'Minor detail,' I muttered.

'No,' he said, 'Suze, you don't get it. You didn't even have enough strength to use your OWN powers. That's bad.'

NUH, FREDDIE.

'It won't happen again,' I assured him. 'That was a little slip up - '

'No. It was blatant stupidity - '

'All RIGHT already!' I rounded on him. 'God, LECTURE me why don't you? I get it. I screwed up. Again. Yay. Okay, move on. Just - don't go ON and ON and ON about it - '

He grabbed me by my shoulders suddenly and roughly, and snapped in my face, 'I'm trying to HELP you!'

I laughed, and jerked away. 'Oh yes,' I humoured him agitatedly. 'Paul Slater, always trying to help those weaker than him. How generous of you, Paul. Snobby little rich guy just _loves_ doing charity work. Your mum and dad would be so proud - '

In disgust, he shook his head at me, and walked on ahead angrily. I waited three seconds, before following, but you know, not going UP to him or anything.

That would only invite more conversation. And more ragging on me.

As he was about to go down the stairs, he stopped, turned, and waited for me. His fingers drummed in annoyance on the side. His hair seemed to get curlier by the day, now. Just tiny curls. You know. Ones any girl would die to have in long-hair version, for her school prom.

Not that it looked girly on him or anything. It actually looked kind of, well, nice on him. But I was not going to openly admit it to him or anyone else for that matter.

When I reached where he was standing, he gave me another hard look.

'How's Jack?' I asked him, and we started walking down.

'He'll live,' Paul said. 'He's got a mean abrasion on his face, and some bruising all down his side and his arm. It looks worse than it is.'

'That's the thing, though,' I said in my defense still, 'They had NO REASON to do that. So do you think that I was just going to let them - '

'Yes,' Paul said sternly. 'You, obviously, can't handle them properly.'

'Hey!' I snapped, 'Look, just QUIT it.'

'Quit what?' he shot.

'Giving me heaps!' I snapped. 'It was ONE screw up - '

'That you almost died from - '

'I KNOW THAT!' I exploded at him. 'God, and you say that _I_ live in the past? Paul. I'm not dead. Yay for me, nay for you. Now, get over it, and tell me what our action plan for the Misfortunates is, as of NOW.'

Paul stared at me like I had just developed another set of eyeballs. Which, you know, may be a good for him since he apparently LIKES my eyeballs, as mentioned before, after The Lake Incident. 'We make them move on. Naturally, as you used to always want it to be.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Yeah,' I said, 'That was for the ghosts that WEREN'T homicidal. Those DESERVED a fair go. But these ones don't.'

He was being illogical. What the hell was he waiting for? What, a reason WHY they were still here? What? They're bitter about their suicide/murder/death/accident or WHATEVER the hell happened to them. Frankly, I didn't care much anymore. Lives were starting to become fragile. Jack, CeeCee, Adam . . . me . . .

And I'm sorry, but I was getting freaked.

I mean . . . this was like, me CONTINUOUSLY putting myself in the path of danger. That's just stupid. At least I'd actually TRIED to, you know, get rid of the stupid ghosts so we could all go back to our lives, whether they involved thesis that needed to be written, going down a catwalk in a leopard skin thong, or getting their face constantly bruised by their "lover," so to speak.

We'd almost reached floor one, and Paul was about to reply with another biting argument when the entrance door opened, and Dani stumbled in.

Apparently, a little drunk.

'Paaaaaaaaaulie,' she looked around, her eyes wide. 'Paaaaaulie, are you theeeeeeere?'

Paul stopped mid-step, so his foot hovered over the next stair. He frowned, looked sideways at me, and then looked at Dani again.

Dani, who was leaning heavily on the door, hiccupped and looked up, sighting us.

Then she exploded.

'PAUL! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH HER? AFTER WHAT THAT HORRID LITTLE PAPER SAID ABOUT US? IS - IS THAT TRUE? DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE? AND YOU WENT TO HER? God! You can do BETTER than the likes of HER - '

I glared. 'HEY,' I said angrily.

I'M RIGHT HERE, YOU DRUNKARD.

She just IMPLIED that Paul Slater was BETTER than me. I mean, maybe it was a little true in some cases, (okay, a lot...)

But the fact that DANIELLE MOORE pointed it out to me is just...MEAN.

Paul ran down the rest of the stairs. 'Where've you been all day?'

'At Miles'. He's darling. Hmph,' she snapped, 'HE'D never cheat on me.'

'He's gay,' was my addition. What? It's TRUE.

Paul rolled his eyes and dragged her away from the doorknob. 'So you just drank all day?' he demanded.

With all her friends.

Samuel Adams. . . Jack Daniels . . . Jim Bean…

She rolled her eyes. 'What was I SUPPOSED to do? You all went off to watch the stupid priest get his head sliced open. Is THAT why you're so stroppy, Paul? Did he die on the operating table, or something?'

I swelled up in a sliver of the rage that I'd been feeling before, stormed down the rest of the stairs, shot Paul the cattiest glare, and headed for the kitchen angrily.

GOD . . .

I HATED HER SO GOD DAMNED MUCH.

'Wait!' Paul yelled at me angrily, 'We're not done – '

'Tend to your drunken mistress,' I replied. 'I'm going to help CeeCee with dinner.'

Paul swore at me, as I stomped down the corridor. However, it was just before I got to the kitchen that I bumped into Jesse, who was standing in the doorway, smiling kind of wistfully.

'Hey,' I said, trying to hide any leftover emotion that hung in the air with the last thing I'd said. I wanted to keep it light and simple. Our newly re-established friendship was still on the rocks, and I didn't want whatever blinding anger I felt towards Paul to interfere with it. Again.

Jesse regarded me with one of his great smiles. The smile that used to melt my insides into a huge puddle of goo. Then, he continued looking off into the kitchen, the same smile plastered on his perfect Latino face.

It amazed me how Jesse could find something happy in the midst of all this, well, sadness. I only wished I could do the same.

'What are you all smiles about?' I asked him.

With one finger, Jesse turned my head towards the kitchen, where I saw CeeCee hold a spoonful of sauce to Adam to taste it. Adam, being somewhat clumsy in his eagerness to try it, had accidentally gotten some on his face. CeeCee giggled girlishly and then put down the spoon and kissed the sauce off his face.

Okay, it was kind of gross. But in the cutest way possible.

'They are in love,' Jesse said. He continued to look at them and said again, with a small laugh, 'They are truly in love.'

'I knew that,' I reminded him.

'I cannot help but imagine that it must be truly wonderful,' Jesse said, turning my head back towards him, 'to be in love with someone like that, and to have them love you in return the exact same way.'

I blinked up at him awkwardly.

Just then, Jack came into the room, slowly. He looked really tired and really freaked. The bandage on his head covered the huge gash he'd received earlier.

Jesse dropped his hand like my face suddenly caught on fire and then cleared his throat. 'How are you feeling, Jack?' Jesse asked.

Jack smiled weakly at Jesse and, in a manner quite like Father Dom's, replied, 'Oh, I've been better.'

Isn't that how it _always_ is?

- 8 -

**A/N: Hey, it's me, Hayley. Deepest apologies. Lolly and I are just cruel and maniacal by nature. But, THE CHAPTER will be out before I go to Colorado. We love you guys for reading . . . and DANG, I just looked at how many reviews we've gotten. WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS.**

**Do you love us back? Because I think our man Jesse's hit the nail on the target with his little theory earlier.**

**Lolly: Guys, we are really sorry that this was not The Chapter. It WILL come soon. But homework has been horrible, and Hayley's poor Auntie . . . **

**AND THE POPE. WE MUSTN'T FORGET THE POPE.**

**REST IN PEACE, DEAR POPEY.**

**But yeah, we PROMISE that it won't be long. And we truly are sorry . . . please be nice . . . **

**Love, **

**Lolly and Hayley.**


	23. Crime of Passion

**OUR APOLOGIES FOR THE OBSCENE LENGTH OF THIS CHAPTER.**

**Muahaha. _LIVE WITH IT._**

**Lol. Sorry it took so long. But here it is . . .**

_**The Chapter.**_

**Hate it or love it.**

**Love, Lolly and Hayley.**

-8-

CeeCee and Adam stopped tongue-flirting pretty much as soon as I came in, but then realized it was just me, and resumed. After all, they knew I could handle it. If it had have been, oh, I dunno, DANI watching, they would have pretty much quit. After all, she's the oh-my-Britishness-I-can't-believe-that-you-didin't-get-her-a-RING Nazi.

'What are you cooking?' I asked blandly.

'Garlic prawns, with rice, in honor of Gilroy,' CeeCee said proudly. 'I was just letting Adam taste the sauce. It's really creamy. Want to taste-test, Simon?'

'Not if I have to use the same spoon,' I smiled. 'Might pick up mono or something, the way you two go at it.'

Adam grinned. 'Or Herpes. The gynecologist just got back to us, didn't he Cee? We're both mad with it.'

. . . Eww.

CeeCee elbowed him, grinning.

'Can I help with anything?' I asked politely.

'Nada, Simon. Too many cooks spoil the broth,' Adam sniffed at my lack of cooking expertise.

'You're not making a broth,' I pointed out.

He looked puzzled, and then grinned. 'An EXCELLENT observation, Miss Susie! Indeed then, we bestow you the ancient honor of Greek salad-making.'

I beamed. 'Go me,' I said.

'And we have feta cheese, even,' CeeCee said excitedly. 'And dressing! Adam made me get it 97 per cent fat free for Dani.'

'She won't eat anyway,' I rolled my eyes. 'You shouldn't have bothered.'

Nevertheless, I joined my two best friends at the counter where CeeCee's prawns were boiling right next to her rice. The steam rose gently, swirling around in a misty ascent just like the incense had done when I was attempting my exorcism.

The exorcism that failed terribly. More than terribly . . . _miserably._

Gah.

'Well,' Adam said, 'As a compassionate human being, I thought it only fair to purchase dairy products so as to woo Ms. Moore to succumb to the delights of food. Sin . . . _sin . . ._'

CeeCee stared. 'Idiot,' she concluded.

Adam pouted. 'Aww. Sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains arouse me.'

. . . Is there even a _reply_ to that?

'Eww, Suze, wash your hands.' Ignoring Adam, CeeCee wrinkled her nose as I was about to grab the lettuce, 'Why are you so sooty?'

Oh. I guess now that I'm an official pyromaniac, I need to conceal the evidence a little better.

I smiled grimly. 'Don't ask.'

She and her lovely fiancé turned curious eyes onto me. 'We're asking,' Adam said, a goofy little grin on his face. 'Did it involve mud and naked chicks?'

'No,' I said, running my hands under the water, and cleansing them with soap, 'I almost died. Same ol' same ol'.'

CeeCee looked rather disturbed by this. Her black pupils surrounded by her misty violet irises, dilated. 'Did they – did the ghosts try to _bury_ you too? Did they – '

'Nah,' I almost laughed. 'I'm just, to quote Paul, a "frigging idiot." I tried to exorcise them. Didn't go so well. Almost got cooked.'

Adam went still. 'Cooked?'

I did laugh then. But it was very uncomfortable. 'Oh. Uh, yeah. Fire and stuff. Pretty nasty.'

The prawns were still steaming. 'How did you get away?'

CeeCee's face was white. I mean . . . okay, so it's always white. But it was REALLY white.

That grey colour it sometimes gets, you know?

I hmph-ed. 'Paul,' I said bitterly.

Ha. Makes you think that, what, I actually didn't WANT to be saved or something. I mean, that wasn't strictly true. I didn't want to DIE, sure, but to be saved by PAUL? That was just embarrassing. I hated how he kept seeing how weak I was all the time. And he was so right. I had been stupid and reckless. I mean, it was HIS brother, and HE hadn't gone after the naughty Misforties, had he?

No.

But then again, Paul is anal and doesn't give a toss about Jack.

Well . . . actually . . . he was hugging him pretty hard when he almost got crushed by the book case before.

So I don't know.

I really don't.

Said midget came into the kitchen then, looking a little worse for wear. The bandage still stood out on his face.

'How's the little casualty?' Adam asked, stirring the rice a little because he had nothing better to do while it was cooking.

Jack grinned brightly. 'Do I look that bad?'

Ha. Any girl would be SPITTING if they looked like he did. But Jack's weird. He IS the type to be proud of his injuries.

Then again, Jesse likes the scene in the Godfather where the guys are showcasing their various scars. I guess Jack and his little buddies do the same.

Maybe it's a guy thing.

. . . God. Men are so screwed up.

'You look absolutely horrible,' I commented.

Jack beamed at me. 'Really?'

'Really really,' I assured him, shredding the lettuce and putting it in a bowl to wash with my now FRESH, CLEAN, VERY HYGIENIC hands.

Adam abandoned the rice, and went over to Jack, and began talking about how this one time, when he was eleven, he fell off his bike ant into a ditch, where he broke his leg and got a severe scratch down from his knee to his ankle, and how CeeCee had panicked so badly and neither of them had a cell phone.

'I didn't cry though,' he said in utmost masculinity.

'You _so_ did,' CeeCee snapped. 'And you kept saying you were going to die. I remember. It was really annoying. And God, did you have enough BLOOD, McTavish?'

Adam faltered, and then turned away from CeeCee, before she could ruin another of his stories. He sat down with Jack and they began swapping tales of their greatest injuries.

'See this one?' Adam asked as he pointed to a nearly faded gash on his forearm. 'This one I got surfing. The waves were killer because there was about to be a storm. The waves tossed me around like I was Shake & Bake or something. Gashed my arm on my surfboard.'

'Sweeeeet,' Jack marveled.

After they got more and more gory, (obviously hyperbole on both boys' part,) Cee and I tuned out in humour.

'So,' I said sideways to her, as I began cubing tomato, 'You're getting married, CeeCee Webb. Tell our readers how you feel about that.'

She looked at me, and I saw this . . . this purity shining out of her eyes.

'I know,' she said giddily, 'It's weird.'

I snorted. 'It's weird all right. Because, like, NO one pegged you for getting hitched with Adam. Wow. That one was out of the blue.'

'Shut up,' she laughed, catching my sarcasm. 'No, I mean . . . just . . . I guess I didn't think he'd ever ask me.'

'You're only twenty three,' I said reasonably.

She shrugged. 'Still . . . I mean, I'd THOUGHT about it. I'd even thought about asking him, and stuff. Feminist that I am, and all – '

'Except _you_ shave your legs.'

' – But you know, he might have laughed, made a joke, and would have pretended not to hear me if he didn't want it,' she murmured. 'But he asked me . . . and . . . ' she trailed off, smiling serenely into her prawn sauce. It looked really delicious. The smell was potent it garlic, and . . . yeah.

'So,' I gossiped, dicing feta cheese and plonking it in my marvelous salad, 'You talked about anything yet? Wedding-anythings, I mean?'

She shook her head. 'He only proposed yesterday, Suze.'

'What about last night? Didn't you talk about it?'

She blushed. 'We . . . didn't talk much at all.'

I smirked at her. 'Yeah. I guess screaming in ecstasy can't really qualify as conversation, right? You little skank, you,' I teased.

CeeCee grinned. 'Shut up. Our amazing sex-life is none of your – _shit_!' she swore as she burnt her finger when a bit of sauce splashed up. She jammed it in her mouth and sucked at it, taking away the sting.

I dumped in some seedless olives – in my salad, not her sauce – and slices of cucumber. Jack was detailing Adam about some of his ghost adventures, like Maria and Diego, and when he accidentally exorcised Jesse. Ha. I noticed that he wasn't exactly saying they'd fooled him. He was all, 'And then they said if I didn't do it, they'd stab me, and I was scared, and I didn't even KNOW who Jesse was then, and I did it and then Suze got all mad at me, and I just guess I forgot to tell her how Maria had threatened to shoot – I mean, stab me if I didn't – '

'Liar,' I tossed over my shoulder. 'Maria never threatened to get her hubby to knife you. You just thought she was hot, Jack.'

'He was _seven_!' Adam defended.

'He's a Slater,' I rejoined.

Adam nodded fairly. 'Good point.'

CeeCee smiled, and we continued with our cooking and our gossip.

'So,' she smiled, 'Come on, Suze. We haven't had a talk like this in forever. Tell me, has there been anyone special lately, and if so, how good were they in the sack? I am very curious, seeing as I am only judging off Adam, who is, as far as I know, spectacular. If I ever did it with anyone else, though, this opinion might be changed. So, Simon, details.'

'You realize how gross it is to ask someone about their ex's bedroom abilities, don't you?' I checked.

'Yes, I realize that,' she said. 'Now spill.'

Okay. Um . . . tell me again HOW you're supposed to tell your best friend that you're a . . . oh, I dunno, TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD VIRGIN?

You just DON'T.

So, I, um . . . invented.

'Well,' I said. 'There was Luke.' Ha. I have actually DATED a guy called Luke. He was the one that made a bet with his friends that he could nail me.

Which, I may fail to mention, he never got around to.

'Aaaaaaaaaaand?' CeeCee prompted with a grin.

I shrugged, thinking fast. 'Well, we didn't last very long because he was a shocker in all things sexy. Honestly, he had the limpest Little Luke ever. No woman can get pleasure with something that tiny,' I sniffed.

(A/N: LOLLY - I've snagged that from someone's fic, sorry! Credit to them!)

CeeCee giggled shrilly, reminding me forcibly of Kelly Prescott. Wow. Does a kinky talk cause EVERY girl to act like an airhead?

Jeez.

'Anyway,' I went on. 'Well . . . due to his less than stellar performance, I broke it off with him,' I said. DREAM ON, SUSIE. HAHAHAHAHAHA. God, this was weird. But kinda funny, if you actually know the truth.

I smiled. 'And then there was Oliver,' I said, recounting another one of my asshole ex's. 'This one had been Australian, and of the hot variety.' I mean, everything from Australia is hot, right? Heath Ledger, Hugh Jackman . . . Mel Gibson . . .

(A/N: . . . _Lolly . ._ . )

'He was a big boy,' I grinned, cracking up internally. Oh my God. Yeah, Suze, like you would KNOW. Oh well, I've seen enough TV to know how these kinda girls talk. Nothing against anyone who has ever had sex . . . but yeah, you can so tell when someone's boasting about their conquests. 'But unfortunately, he was not the only one who thought so. Apparently,' THINK FAST – 'his wife erm . . . _Jennifer_, quite liked his size also.'

CeeCee looked scandalized. 'He was _married_?'

Wow. If only this were all true. I'd have some great stories to tell down at the pub, should I ever get drunk and feel the need to go to one. But yeah, her shock was very entertaining.

I gave my best hard-done-by sigh, as I added dressing to my perfect salad. 'Yeah,' I said in pseudo-sadness, 'So he and his wife went to counseling and I was left single.'

I am WAY too good at lying about this kinda thing.

Wow. Go me.

MUAHAHAHAHA. I AM A FICTIONAL _SLUT_!

'And then,' I went on, 'There was Jason. However, though, his surname was Payne. So, um, OBVIOUSLY, I didn't want to even bother with him. I mean, can you IMAGINE how much it would suck to have that last name? Go through school with it? Have people making "Major Payne" cracks, and "Jason is a Payne in the ass," and stuff? It would be the pits. And his dad would have probably called him and his siblings growing Paynes.'

CeeCee laughed.

(A/N: Lolly - HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

'You weren't going to MARRY him or anything though,' she said, 'I mean . . . how was he, though?'

I made this guttural noise at the back of my throat. '_Wow_,' I said dreamily.

Then I turned away, and tried to control my hysterical laughter. I was shaking with it, it was so bad.

THIS WAS SO DAMNED FUNNY.

LIKE WHEN YOU WATCH _SLEEPY HOLLOW_ AND PEOPLE KEEP GETTING DECAPITATED. _HILARIOUS_!

Ha. I could be an ACTRESS! Well, at this kinda thing. Why was it so easy to lie to CEECEE, and yet so impossible to like to Jesse de Silva?

Or _Paul Slater? _

Because seriously. Paul could call my bluff anytime he wanted. I would SO not like to play bullshit with HIM.

He'd be a potty-mouth due to the many times when he'd know when I was lying.

But whatever.

'Whoa,' CeeCee said jokily. 'Maybe I should give this whole monogamy thing some serious thought. It sounds like I've been missing out on a lot.'

Yeah. Don't worry, Cee. So have I.

It's actually kind of . . . I dunno, admirable of me that I've been able to keep my virtue this long. I mean, I don't want to lose myself on some loser like Cole, do I? I want it to be with someone I love, and someone who loves me back. I don't want to be pressured. I want it to be a careful decision, and I want him to understand me and any of my qualms or whatever.

Yeah. Looks like Cee snagged the only guy who could EVER do that.

Hmph.

I maintain that Adam is the perfect boyfriend. Not that I'd ever take him away from CeeCee or anything. I'm just saying in general. He's good looking, hilarious, and, according to Cee, excellent in the sack. Just perfect.

But whatever.

CeeCee took the sauce off the stove quickly, and put the lid on it. 'Done,' she said proudly. She gave the rice a quick stir, made sure it was all cooked, and then took that off too. Finally, she checked the prawns, which still had a minute to go. 'Salad all good, Simon?' she asked.

'It's my masterpiece,' I announced pompously. 'You shall all bow before the Greek salad.'

Adam, who'd finally finished entertaining Jack, in a non-Michael-Jackson way, (and also because he realized that the food was almost done, haha), wandered over. He told Jack to call Dani and Paul down for dinner. Then, he – Adam not Jack – and slid his hands around CeeCee's waist, and breathed into her ear teasingly.

Ha. If PAUL ever did that to Dani, she'd be all, 'Gee, thanks for the refill!'

(A/N: SORRY, DELILAH. IT WAS WONDERFUL.)

CeeCee shivered and smiled, as Adam kissed her neck. 'Ad – Adam, stop – haha . . . the _prawns_ – they're ready – '

He only laughed in a theatrical manner. 'Let them _buuuuuuuuurn_,' he joked.

. . . Yay. Because burning, is like, so fun. I should know,

The Misfortunates would not agree, however.

CeeCee got the prawns off of the stove, and drained them quickly.

'Isn't she going to make the most perfect housewife?' Adam teased. 'Can you just see her in that tartan dress that I'm going to make her wear, with her hair curled and her cheeks always rosy, as I call, "HONEY, I'M HOME!" every day? Wearing Pearls while you vacuum . . . you'll be like Abigail Head,' he said.

CeeCee snorted in disgust. 'She needs to get out more,' she said.

'Yeah,' I muttered. 'But she can't. She's got the D. H. for a husband.'

'Promise you'll let me go out,' CeeCee said to Adam severely.

Adam grinned. 'Of course,' he replied chirpily, 'As long as your friends do not possess a penis, or any homosexual interest in you, and you keep your clothing appropriate, and you tell me that I'm the only man who you'll ever love, you will get Danielle Moore's boobs, and that you will spank me on command.'

I sniggered. 'Okay, she's not marrying you anymore.'

'Kidding,' Adam said warmly.

You know something?

Danielle Moore has a very special gift.

She can bring laughter and happiness into a room . . .

. . . by simply _leaving_ it.

I mean, that's talent. As soon as she walked into the kitchen with Paul, (having been showered,) she looked a little more sober, as she glared around everywhere. There was something very pale about her face. It was quite stark against her hair, even beneath the fake tan. She looked sick. Very sick, actually.

Yeah. That happens to people who, oh, I dunno, DRINK ALL DAY.

'What's for dinner?' Paul asked loudly. Dani gave him an angry look, one which he returned stubbornly.

'Garlic prawns,' I offered. 'And salad. I made the salad. It's good salad.'

_Eat the salad._

YOU WANT THE SALAD, GOD DAMNIT.

'Dani loves garlic prawns,' Paul said, again too loudly for some reason. I saw how hard he was holding her hand. Like she was trying to run away, or something.

Ha. Don't blame her for wanting to.

'Actually,' Dani forced a laugh, 'I had a huge lunch. I'm not hungry.'

'_Actually_,' Paul said angrily, 'That lunch wasn't really as big as you'd think, Dani. And plus, you love garlic prawns,' he repeated, returning the same WAY-TOO-CASUAL tone. He then led her to the table, where he pulled out her chair for her to sit down. Only, instead of doing it lovingly like most couples, the action had an undertone of anger and tension.

I guess there'd been a rather large discussion that I missed earlier between Paul and Dani. And with the way Dani was glaring at Paul as he unwrapped her silverware and placed the napkin in her lap, it didn't seem like it was all too pleasant.

. . . Um . . . why the hell were her _hands_ shaking?

Adam helped CeeCee bring all of the goodies to the table. The smell was savory and it looked positively delicious. I hadn't eaten this good since, well, I lived in Carmel with Mom and the Ackerman clan. Jack, who usually detested anything in the vegetable family (unless, of course, they were fries), looked like his mouth was watering.

Dani didn't look too jazzed about the food. In fact, she looked past the food and stared off somewhere in the distance. Rude. She wasn't even looking longingly at the SALAD.

God. She can't recognize a good salad when she sees one. Typical.

'Allow me,' Paul said as he took Dani's plate. Dani continued to look far off as Paul spooned generous portions of rice, until there was a heap on her plate. He dressed it with a sizzling serving of creamed prawns. He then stuck the plate in front of her and then chirped fakely, 'There you go, _honey_.'

'Paul –' Dani started to object, but Paul cut her off with a stern, 'Dani.'

Whoa . . . and I thought my ex-boyfriend was a whippun.

Dani picked up her fork, but didn't tear in straight away. Instead, she pushed her food around her plate as she stared at it. She looked about as helpless against her food as she looked against Paul. And now she felt torn between the two evils.

Well, whichever one she was going to choose didn't matter to me. I was _starving_.

The prawns were delicious. Not too garlicky . . . just full of flavor. And the salad was excellent, if I do say so myself. Because it was made by the one . . . the only . . . SUSANNAH SIMON, MUAHAHAH.

(Recently was almost killed today. Give her some credit.)

The only thing lacking in this dinner was the attitude. You could cut the tension like a tender steak.

Adam took it upon himself to lighten the mood which Dani and Paul had brought down heavily. 'Good food, good meat, good God, let's eat.'

I grinned. 'Very nice.'

'Simpsons educates all,' he replied happily.

'Oooh, I got a grace,' Jack said enthusiastically. 'We learned it on a school camp. Mr Walden.'

'Uh huh,' I said.

He took a deep breath, and started belting it out, to Star Wars theme music.

'THANK YOU GOOOOOOOOD, FOR GIVING-US-FOOOOOOOOOD. THANK YOU GOOOOOOOOOD, FOR GIVING-US-FRIENDS. FOR THE FOOD WE MEET AND THE FRIENDS WE EAT, THANK YOU – I mean, for the FOOD WE MEET – no, EAT and the – um . . . no, that's not right, it goes like FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD WE MmMmm . . . EAT. And the FRIENDS we MEET, THA – '

'Cool it, Jack,' I said. 'Great grace. Now eat. Try the salad, it's really good.'

'And she's so modest,' CeeCee said sarcastically.

Again, there was another awkward silence.

Which Adam, again, broke.

'SO. This guy walks into a bar. Know what he says?'

'What?' Jack asked after he managed to swallow a fork full of rice.

'Ouch.'

Jack crinkled his nose. 'That was crap.'

'You laughed,' Adam pointed out.

'Yeah, because it was so dumb.'

Like Dani. We laugh, coz we caaaaaan.

_. . . CAN, CAN, CAN YOU DO THE CANCAN? CAN YOU DO THE CANCAN – _

Um . . . sorry . . .

'Well, let's see you come up with a better one,' Adam challenged.

'It's a blonde joke,' Jack said, giggling to himself, 'but CeeCee's smart, so I doesn't apply to her. This blonde wanted a pair of alligator shoes really badly, but she couldn't afford them. She tried to get the store clerk to bargain with her, but he didn't want to lower the price. The blonde got so mad she yelled, "FINE! I'll just go catch my own alligator so I can get shoes at a reasonable price. The clerk said, "Go ahead. Maybe you'll catch a big one." Well, the blonde went to the swamp that same day, determined to catch an alligator – '

Haha. Alligator? Rhymes with – Slater?

I'm so funny.

'Later as the clerk was driving home from a hard day selling shoes, he saw the blonde waist-deep in water, armed with a shotgun. Swimming towards her was this gigantic alligator that was, like, 9 feet long.' Jack stopped, trying to remember. 'Hang on . . . oh yeah. She aimed the gun and then BANG! She shot it down. The clerk watched in shock as she dragged the alligator to the shore, where there were bodies of other alligators laying there too. The blonde looked down at the body and shrieked in frustration, "Damn it! This one isn't wearing shoes either!" '

. . . Snort.

'I get it,' I smiled. 'Very nice, Jack.'

'Hey, that's a good one,' Adam said with a chuckle. Jack beamed at him, satisfied with the laughs his joke was meriting.

Jesse then materialized with a swirl of sapphire blue, and rested his eyes on me blankly. Then he looked away.

'Jesse,' Paul said in a too-nice voice. 'Glad you could join us. Have a seat. Try the prawns. They're great.'

Jesse's gaze went stony.

Jack frowned. 'He can't eat, Paul. He's dead – '

'Your brother knows that,' I growled. He's just being an ASS as usual.

Paul blinked in see-through naivety.

I raised my eyebrows. 'Paul, try the knuckle sandwich,' I said in bland threat.

Paul gave me a fake yeah-yeah-very-funny-not smile.

I sniffed and looked at Jack. 'Go on, mini-Slater, have some salad. Just steer clear of all lettuce leaves labeled "Paul," and you're good.'

'Killing me won't be very beneficial,' Paul said dryly. 'Who else will save your ass from fires that are your fault, Simon?'

'You _saved_ her?' Dani said in disbelief. Then she looked around, and corrected herself, and was all, 'Oh, I – why, um, did she need this saving?'

'Nothing – '

'She tried to exorcise the ghosts,' Paul blurted. 'Despite expressive requests from Father Dominic. You'd think she'd have more respect for him when he may very well be on his death bed or something, but _nooooo_.'

'Susannah?' Jesse asked in surprise, 'You didn't, did you?'

I mumbled something under my breath.

'What was that?' Jack asked.

'. . . Nothing,' I said defeatedly.

'Huh?'

'Don't worry,' Paul said in a slightly bitter tone to Jack, 'Take it from your older brother. Most things a girl says _and_ does . . . they're nothing.'

_Like kissing Paul Slater so long ago?_

_Yeah . . . nothing._

I knew that was exactly what he meant. He didn't even have to elaborate.

Getting iffy again, I grabbed the tongs and dumped a bunch of my perfect Greek salad on Jack's plate.

He wrinkled his nose. 'It's got olives.'

'Don't eat the olives then,' I said obviously.

'Do I have to eat it Paul?' he asked.

GOD, HE WAS DOING THIS AGAIN. I'M GOING TO KILL THE LITTLE SLATER. _KIIIIIIIIILL_!

Paul blinked coldly. 'No.'

'I don't think I'll eat either – ' began Dani, but Paul twisted his head in a mighty glare, and she shut up.

'Oh right,' I replied in a frosty voice to Paul. 'Just because I want your brother to grow up healthy, I completely forgot the lack of regard for him that you present. Like . . . leaving him to die in the Shadowland – '

'Shut up,' Paul shot at me, pausing with his knife and fork bitterly.

Again, there was a dead silence, of clanging cutlery, chewing, swallowing, gentle coughing, sipping of water, and breathing.

Dani was still moving her huge serving of prawns around her plate. And her fork was chattering a little against the plate occasionally. Her hand was still shaking.

'Aren't you going to eat?' I asked her in my politest voice. Because, well, sorry, Dani is a bitch, but when one chick sees another chick who's doing something wrong, chick has to say something. 'I mean, Paul went to all that trouble to prepare you a plate. Does he have to chew it for you, too? Or are you actually going to eat this time?'

She shot a look at me. There was a single flash of vulnerability in her face. And then, the twelve inch thick Collagen set in, and she gave me a dark look. 'Why of course not,' she said. 'Wouldn't want to turn out like you, Sue.'

_Wouldn't want to_ – HEY!

I dropped my fork, and demanded, 'What?'

Paul shot her a nasty look. He looked a little tired of it all.

Dani smirked smugly, resting her cutlery that had not yet entered her mouth. She looked pleased to have a distraction from pretending to eat. 'Oh, you heard me dear. I mean, I honestly think you should start doing Pilates or _something_. And all that food you eat? Do you know how much flab that causes? You're not exactly a dream-date, Sue.'

I sat there in absolute shock for a moment.

She did NOT just call me fat. OR FLABBY.

Adam then went, 'HAHAHAHAHAHA. WEIRD AL IS A COMIC GENIUS.'

Which did nothing but merit a few strange glares.

'I prefer the natural look,' I said.

'Yes. Your lack of chest could not suggest otherwise,' she smirked. 'At least I have got something.'

Um . . . okay, this was . . .um . . . weird . . .

I don't normally discuss the size of my, um, chest with supermodels. Especially ones rude enough say they weren't big enough. I mean, we all know how she got HERS.

'Yeah. After eighteen operations,' I snapped.

'Two,' said Paul boredly.

Adam and CeeCee didn't look very surprised, but Jack looked completely scandalized. In fact, he wouldn't stop looking at the two mountains on Dani's chest.

'Eww,' Jack realized. Adam smacked Jack upside the head.

'How do you breathe at night?' I sneered at her.

'At least I'm not some unemployed, destitute bint who couldn't hope to ever get someone to love them,' Dani laughed. 'I mean, if this Cole Kennedy fellow is the best you can do – '

I stopped dead. And I mean, _dead_.

How did she – ?

'. . . _What_?'

She looked at me triumphantly. Like she knew she had hit a nerve.

I think she hit more than just a nerve.

All of a sudden, I was panicking, and my dinner didn't taste so nice –

'Dani, don't – ' Paul said quickly, but it was too late. Dani had found my weakness and she wasn't giving it up.

'Oh yes, Paul told me _everything_,' she simpered. 'Really, Sue. It must be horrible to be beaten by a man. I suppose you're the type who would get that a lot? They seem to be the men I'd peg you to attract – '

'Beaten?' CeeCee laughed, 'Ha, Suze wouldn't – '

She grinned as she turned to look at me. One glance at my face made her pale.

I didn't have to tell her myself. She just had to look at my guilty face and see it all for herself. CeeCee shook her head slightly in disbelief. It was just so hard for her to wrap her logical brain around.

I guess the Suze that was bragging about her non-existent sexual conquests disappeared from her mind, replaced by a weakling. A wimpy liar that let a guy beat her regularly because she was afraid to get out of it. And now that I was finally away from Cole, he still somehow managed to affect me. It was like he was here strangling me, not far far away in Boston.

Or, you know, not in Boston. I still didn't know whether or not to believe he was searching after me.

I shot a glare at Paul. He TOLD her? I can't believe he did that? I mean, if it were up to me, PAUL wouldn't even know. If it hadn't been for his stupid curiosity, he would have never picked up my phone and saw any of those text messages that Cole was sending me.

It was his fault. It was all his fault.

But, then again, here was Dani blaming it all on me. It was MY fault for falling for an abusive loser. MY fault he liked to beat me. MY fault for not leaving him sooner.

Paul's eyes were wide, looking at me. He wasn't looking apologetic. He was looking a little afraid, actually. It was like he was pleading with Dani . . .

_Please stop – _

'And now he's apparently _stalking_ you?' Dani smiled in a sick glee. She really was one twisted sister. My pain was, of course, every bit of her pleasure. She was SICK. 'My my, he _has _got spare time, hadn't he? Does it hurt, Sue? To know that the only man that you could ever hope to get close to wants to punch you? Poor thing,' she said in poisonously false sympathy. 'Maybe you should leave the country . . . for your own safety, obviously. Because I'd hate to see what would happen should this fellow find you. You must be terrified of him, aren't you dear?'

I didn't know why, but . . . but I couldn't move.

Dani's smirk said everything.

"_Got ya."_

It was so true. Dani had me nailed. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it after the words escaped her mouth.

Adam and CeeCee and Jack were staring at me, in awe.

'. . . No way,' Adam said slowly. 'Suze, she's – kidding, right?'

Oh my God . . .

_They all knew now. They all knew just how pathetic I was. What was I going to do now?_

Dani, with a glorious expression, picked up her fork and took a leisurely mouthful of rice, her eyes on me.

It's funny how revealing my deepest, most embarrassing secret can cause me to lose my appetite, while it causes Dani to gain one.

I made the grave mistake of looking up at Jesse.

. . . He looked like he'd been punched in the stomach, then turned around, and stabbed in the back.

Oh God.

Why couldn't I move?

WHY THE HELL COULDN'T I MOVE? I'm STUUUUUCK.

I was frozen like a block of ice. I tried thinking of something intelligent to say to him that might better explain my situation, but no words would come out. At least, no words that were the RIGHT words.

'Querida – ' Jesse started, but it was THAT that made my chair scrape loudly as I got up from the table gracelessly, and backed from the table.

'Uh – ' I said, pretending that Dani had said NONE of that, 'I think I'm going to have a shower – '

'Suze – ' Paul went to stand up, but Dani's hand was jammed on his elbow ruthlessly. It was the same amount of force Paul had on Dani earlier. The tables were turned now.

I just stared at all of them, sitting and staring at me like I was this FREAK . . . this helpless loser who couldn't defend herself from some GUY.

Then I fumbled with the handle, got out of the dining room, on the other side of the door, where suddenly, _it was hard to breathe . . ._

I slumped against the wall and put my hand to my chest. My breath became so shallow that it hardly felt like I was breathing at all. In fact, my head was getting a little dizzy from the lack of air . . . and something else. Fear.

Great. This was just wonderful. Now everyone's view of me had to change. For Adam and Cee, I was no longer Suze-Kick-Ass-Simon. And you can say goodbye to being Jack's role model. Now I was just a wimp.

I was _nothing_ now. I was just like Dani said. Nothing but an unemployed, destitute bint.

And I didn't even know what a "bint" _was_.

I couldn't even make a comeback because what she said was absolutely, positively true.

Jesse slowly shimmered in front of me, the expression on his face unreadable through all of the confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, and instead chose to stare.

Which, I must point out, was NOT HELPING.

Finally, Jesse got the nerve to say, 'Susannah . . . you never told me.'

'With good reason,' I said, my voice shakier than I really wanted it to be.

Jesse just shook his head and did the familiar run-the-hand-through-hair move, which was his trademark. 'But you told _him_?' he asked me blankly.

'No,' I replied. Which is the truth, really. Paul pretty much found out on his own after he stole my cell phone, the bastard.

'How else did he know it, then, Susannah?' Jesse demanded. His hands were clenched at his sides in fists. Not that he was going to hit me or anything, but I'm pretty sure he wanted to. I mean, you should have seen the hurt in his dark brown eyes. No, wait. Jesse would never hurt anyone. So that was completely uncalled for. Jesse is _nothing_ like Cole.

'It's not what you think, Jesse. You see –'

'I do not think I do. You should have told me right away.'

'I _couldn't_,' I insisted. 'I just _couldn't_.'

Adam tapped on the door softly and called out, 'Suze?'

'I'm okay,' I called back to him automatically.

'Are you sure?' CeeCee asked, her voice dripping with motherly concern.

'I said I'm FINE,' I yelled.

I hated yelling at my friends, but it was as if my mouth was travelling faster than my brain. But there was this part of me that insisted that if Adam and CeeCee were really my friends, that they'd trust that everything was okay when I said it was, even if I was lying. When they kept questioning me like that . . . it made me feel like a liar. Which I was. Just another thing to add to the long list.

CeeCee came in the room, Adam following her with a solemn expression. They both looked really confused and just a little freaked by something.

'What was that all about?' CeeCee asked. 'What Dani was saying in there, I mean.'

By then, my responses no longer belonged to me. They belonged to someone else . . . I don't know who, but I swear it wasn't me. I felt so detached from everything. From everyone.

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Suze, we're just trying to help,' Adam offered up bravely.

'I don't need any help.'

Jesse looked at me sharply and said, 'Susannah, I think you do – '

'Shut UP!' I screamed at him. 'Just shut up, already.'

Adam and CeeCee looked confused as usual, as I verbally attacked Jesse with a bunch of unprintable words. It was like the same fire the Misforts tried to burn me with earlier was coming out of my eyes and crisping him.

'And you two,' I said, turning my fiery eyes towards Cee and Adam, 'should just butt out, okay?'

'But – '

'GO AWAY!'

I expected them to fight on, but this time they backed out of the door. CeeCee looked really, really hurt. Like she wanted to cry or something. Seeing her like that made me want to cry, but the monster that was taking over me wouldn't allow it.

Adam gave me a look that almost equaled CeeCee's. He held her shoulders gently, and steered her away, obviously seeing that I was not about to be reasonable.

I watched them go back into the kitchen.

Jesse looked at me and shook his head again in disappointment with a touch of hurt. He said, in a voice that made my conscience squirm, 'Why must you shut out the ones who care about you the most?'

'Look, just STAY out of it,' I warned him, turning away. 'I don't care. It's NOT your problem, okay? Just – leave it.'

'Susannah – '

'DON'T "SUSANNAH" ME!' I rounded back, and shoved him in the chest. 'Okay? DON'T. I don't need YOU, or PAUL, or a LAWYER, or ANYONE'S help, okay!'

'This man _hits_ you, Susannah – '

'Hit. Past tense,' I snapped, flicking my hair out of my eyes. 'As in, not anymore. I mean, like, he's not going to find me, so I'm fine. Now just stop – '

'He could kill you,' Jesse said in a fiery manner. 'He sounds to me like a sick man. Sick in the head,' he said, pointing to his temple. 'He has already hurt you. And he could kill you. Find you and kill you, Susannah.'

Remind me what's the problem with that again?

I laughed uncomfortably. 'He won't.'

'He _might_,' Jesse shot back. 'Susannah, you can't do this on your own.'

I narrowed my eyes. 'What?'

Jesse repeated stubbornly, 'You cannot do this alone.'

'I can. I've been alone for long enough, I think I can handle some wasted asshole who thinks it's funny to take a swing,' I said bitterly. 'This is EXACTLY why I didn't _tell_ you.'

Jesse took a step forward. One of his shoulders was hiked, and his stance was one of outright indignation. 'What do you mean by that, Susannah?'

I laughed again, and kind of thumped uselessly on the wall behind me. 'Because you'd react like this.'

'Like what?'

'THIS!' I motioned furiously at him. 'Like – like _you_!'

'I am ACTING this way because I _care_ about you,' he retorted. 'Things are not at peace with you. That is not right. You should not have this man trying to – he should not be allowed to – in my day, he would have gotten punished for his _improper actions_,' Jesse yelled, stamping his foot.

I stared at his boot.

God, that's an _old_ boot.

'Yeah,' I sneered. 'We're not in your day. And guys like him DO get punished. Just – not by you. Or Paul. By – by _me_.'

. . . Just let me go get changed into my Wonder Woman getup.

Jesse crossed his arms, and gave me this smart-ass look that TOTALLY said yeah-Susannah-you're-SO-in-the-perfect-condition-to-kick-butt, to which I responded with a SHUT-UP-YOU-NERD glare.

He didn't speak for a moment. His face became softer, though. Then he sighed. 'Susannah . . . how could you have told _Slater_ and not _me_?'

'He wasn't supposed to know,' I sniffed in contempt. Then I just stopped . . . and sighed. 'Look Jesse, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm not the girl you used to know. I really am sorry. But this is life. MY life. This is what I get. These are my cards that I got dealt. And I'm _still_ saying "bullshit." Really, I am. God, the almighty dealer of all cards, hates me. Yeah, _He_ is a dick. Okay, cool. I'm over it. But I am going to be _fine_,' I forced a smile. 'Fine.'

My smile was wavering, fast.

And my hands were shaking.

Jesse just stared in sorrow. 'Oh, querida,' he said sadly. 'No, no. You are not going to be fine. Certainly not when it's not just this – this _sinvergüenza_ is not the only one hurting you.'

'What the hell?'

His eyes were dark. Like, really dark. Like he was _pitying_ me. 'You're hurting yourself. Blaming yourself for what someone else has done to you.'

Duh. I could have told me that.

And what was the problem with that? I was right to do so. I mean, I was the one that had gotten myself in this mess. If I hadn't kissed Cole Kennedy back when he kissed me, then he – I dunno, maybe I led him on. I don't remember. But – it was my fault. Sure, he didn't have to HIT me or DRINK a bottle of VODKA or something . . . but those factors were ones that were beyond my control. The ones that I COULD control happened because of my sheer stupidity.

Like Paul said. I was _stupid_.

And God, maybe if I hadn't kissed PAUL back so long ago, I wouldn't have gotten into the freakin' HABIT. I didn't have to kiss HIM either. But I did. That screwed up me and Jesse. And out at the Point, you know, Big Sur that night, I WENT AND DID IT AGAIN!

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?

I'll tell you what's wrong.

Me.

Everything is wrong with me. I make stupid decisions. I am an idiot. I have done bad things. My – my _dad_ . . .

You want to know? Know what I did?

No. I won't say that . . . just know that my DAD moved on.

And my parting words were, and I frigging QUOTE;

_I hate you. I don't need you anymore, I never did. You're an unreliable ASSHOLE and I couldn't care less whether you ever show up again or not. You don't come when I need you, and – Andy's more of a dad than you. I hate you._

Gotta hate PMS, right?

. . . He moved on. Right in front of me. He moved on, because "I didn't need him." That was what was holding him back. He wanted to look after me.

Yeah, well, GREAT job he always did of that, right?

But you know what?

He did look after me.

I had only thought about the times that he hadn't.

And so he moved on, there and then.

The last thing I'd said to him was "I hate you."

. . . This is who I am.

A hurter.

Paul was the ruiner and I was the hurter.

I didn't mean to . . . I didn't.

But it happened. I hurt people. Dad . . . Paul, Jesse . . . just . . . you know.

Yeah. That's life.

These are my cards.

May I say that POKER IS A SHITTY GAME?

WELL. IT IS.

It didn't matter, though. I mean, just because it was an existing fact, I didn't need to dwell on it.

And neither did Jesse.

'Right,' I said, with another uncomfortable laugh. I didn't know WHY I was laughing. I mean, there was nothing funny. Maybe it was hoe blind Jesse was being. I mean, yeah, it must be kind of a shock to find out that there are some people in this world who actually do get what they deserve. I guess it's a relief, too. You know, the whole what-goes-around-comes-around thing and all.

Must make a lot of families of murder victims feel good.

Not that I was a murderer.

No. My status is strictly shifter/hurter.

I should get a badge or something.

A cool one that had my name engraved on it. Not some crummy one with a sticker on it, with my name written with a stupid gay black Sharpie like at Starbucks.

_Suze_.

_Hi, I'm no one. How may I hurt you today? Would you like fries with that? Or a need for psychiatric help, or something?_

Whatever.

'No, it's not right,' Jesse said angrily. 'Susannah, you are bring – '

'Save it,' I stuck my hand vertically at him, and turned away. 'I don't care. I need a shower. I mean, hopefully the hot water can distract me from the fact that you . . . Cee . . . Adam . . . _Jack_ . . . know now that I have been smacked across the face by a man that is physically more powerful than me. I hope Jack is now very certain that the girl that taught him how to swim is a LOSER. And yeah, maybe CeeCee will think twice about inviting me to her wedding. Deary me, what if COLE crashes it or something while looking for me? That would SUCK.'

'Susannah, don't cry – '

'I'M NOT CRYING,' I blinked furiously. 'Look, I don't care. I don't – _I smell_. I need a shower now. I just – Jesse, don't DO this now,' I pleaded, taking quick steps back from him.

'Please, listen to – '

I didn't. I mean, yeah, I needed a shower. I reeked. Of what, I didn't know.

Probably the smell of some freak who had been abused by a drunken artist from Boston.

It's a very unique smell, you know. Ask anyone.

I had to try and wash it off; make the hot water vanquish it down the drain. Hide the fact that _they knew now_.

When I _hadn't ever wanted them to know._

Thanks a BUNCH, Dani. You bitch.

You freaking _bitch_.

As I was running up the stairs, having finally gotten out of sight of Jesse, there was a flicker of materialization beside me, and a restless looking Bart Ford appeared. 'Susie, I'm so sorry about before when I showed up and made you stop chanting, and I'm sorry I left when they – just, you don't know what they're li – well, okay, you do now, and I – they would have – that's not an excuse for going though, I know, just – _why are you crying_?'

'Bart,' I said in a low voice that didn't sound strictly _human_, 'Not now.'

His blond hair looked a shade duller. 'Don't leave the cowboy, Susie. They're still mad at you. Really mad. You tried to get rid of them, and Robin wants to kill you. He really does. You shouldn't be alone – '

'I could have SWORN I just said "not now",' I said fiercely at him. His features went deadpan, and he looked away quickly. 'But he'll kill you.'

'Yeah, well tell him to get in line,' I snapped. '_God_.'

Well, he didn't exactly LEAVE. No. He followed me up to my FRIGGING room to get my FRIGGING clothes, and then to the door of my FRIGGING bathroom, where –

. . . Oh my God.

I swallowed hard.

Danielle Moore had her head in a toilet, puking like mad.

In the doorway, I froze. She was almost lying on the floor, with her hands draped across the toilet seat. She was coughing and spluttering into the bowl, and randomly swearing.

Then, she turned her head, and for a moment, I saw a look on her face that made her look dead. Her eyes looked sunken and hollow, and she looked really sick.

No. REALLY.

Then, she went ballistic. 'GET OUT! GET OUT!'

I didn't move. 'What are you DOING?' I asked in shock. I mean . . . I've never actually witnessed Bulimia before. This was . . . scary. There was stuff around her mouth. She couldn't hold her glare; she turned back to the toilet and threw up again.

It was gross.

'I'm getting Paul,' I said uncertainly.

'Don't you DARE! You hear me? Don't you d - '

'You told everyone about ME,' I retorted, 'So he's going to know about YOU.'

She coughed, and wiped her hair from her face. She shakily stood up, looking at me with murder-filled eyes. But she didn't say anything.

Well, besides her next outburst of, 'GET OUT!'

'I'm not the one who just had my head down a toilet,' I replied, backing out again to get Paul -

Dani grabbed my wrist, her long, fake, red nails digging into my flesh. I turned back to her, only to see her giving me a deadly look. Her hair was limp and dull and lifeless, and her skin had gone a ashen colour, and her face was glossy with sweat. Her breath STANK.

Of, you know, the remains of her barely digested dinner.

'You'll NOT tell Paul!' she shrilled at me, weakly trying to threaten me. It was a pretty crappy stunt, considering how enervated she was then. I threw her hand off of mine, and she stumbled. 'Dani, shut up.'

After an intense look at her and her half-pleading, half-enraged eyes, I closed my own, and called Paul with my astral voice.

When I opened my eyes, Dani was regarding me warily, waiting for me to attempt to leave again so she could strike out and, oh, I dunno, slay me with her stupid fingernails or something.

Needless to say, Paul materialized just behind me within moments. 'Is it them again?' he demanded, looking around and only seeing Bart standing there, looking shocked. 'What did - '

His eyes landed on Dani, who was pathetically sprawled on the cold tiles of the bathroom, appearing very . . . I dunno, stoned. I doubt she'd, you know, taken anything. I mean, she MIGHT have. I didn't know. But she looked really, really sick.

'I didn't know what to - ' I began, glancing up, but I stopped when I saw Paul's face as he was looking down at her like that.

And Dani's was one of guilt, fury, resentment, hate, shock, and . . . something else which I didn't know.

Like she WAS calling out for help, but she'd never admit it.

'Suze,' Paul growled in a very low voice, 'Go.'

'What - '

'WHY DID YOU DO THAT?' Dani screeched at me, scurrying up from her knees and attempting to LEAP at me - no, seriously - but Paul grabbed her.

I saw the flashes of the purest vulnerability present in her glower. Blinking fast, I picked up my clothes, towel and shower stuff - which I'd accidentally deposited on the floor - and hightailed it.

Sorry, as much as I love a good eavesdrop . . . that was one fight I did not want to hear.

Because I knew, concrete now, that Danielle Moore was a very sick person. As in . . . she needed to get help.

I can't even IMAGINE not eating, or throwing up after I _do_ eat. Unless I have a virus or something. Just – yeah. It's gross.

I went and had my stupid shower elsewhere. Bart was being a stalker and he followed me to the door of the bathroom, saying he'd stay there, and - I quote, "protect me."

Forgetting of course that it was HIM that almost got me killed earlier.

If he keeps on protecting me I'll end up dead.

After a shower, I felt even worse. I didn't know why. Just - the whole reality of Dani, I guess.

I went back up to my room for a little while, deciding that lying on my bed was a good option. Bart, AGAIN, came with me. His constant following of me was starting to get annoying. I mean - yeah, there is such a thing as OTT.

And plus. Even if his punk friends DID try to have a go at me, what the hell could Bartholomew Ford do? I mean, I liked the guy. Really, I did. But that did not hide the fact that he was, indeed, a wimp. I mean, okay, so fair enough, Robbie, Nathan and Charles were scaaaary.

But still. What has BART got to lose?

Whatever.

Bart was talking to me occasionally, but I guess I wasn't really hearing him. I kept nodding and murmuring in agreement, and I think I screwed up when he was telling me how guys used to call him a square when he was alive, and if I thought he was a square, and I was all with the nodding and murmuring.

He realized pretty quickly that I wasn't listening after that.

All I could think about at the moment was CeeCee and Adam and Jack. And how they now knew about Cole. And how screwed up my life was.

By the time it was eleven o'clock, I was in a bit of a state. See? You CAN'T leave me alone to think. It doesn't do ANYONE any good.

I was kind of freaked out to talk to Adam and CeeCee again. I mean . . . they knew, now. And I saw the looks on their faces when Dani blurted out about Cole.

Those looks were the ones that I'd been so scared of seeing.

And Paul. Ha. He had every REASON to look like he did. He fucking told his model bitch my secret. I hope the guilt killed him.

Even though, you know, it never would. Paul is lucky that he feels any compassion at ALL. I mean, I don't know how he manages. Maybe he injects hormones in or something. Because he sure as hell wasn't born with them.

You either have compassion or you don't. You can't just LEARN it.

(© Copyright Stephanie Merchant. Ugh.)

My mind was not a merciful entity. It did not go easy on me. And you know, if I was left alone with if for much longer, I'd go freaking insane.

. . . Says the future psychologist.

I stood up abruptly, and Bart looked at me. 'What?' he asked quickly, his blond hair falling in his eyes again.

'Nothing,' I said. 'I'm going downstairs.'

He nodded silently and stood up to.

'No - ' I shook my head. 'You stay.'

'Can't,' he muttered. 'Robin's still really - '

'Robin can kiss my ass,' I said. 'I don't care about him. Don't follow me, Bart, or I swear, you'll get the glaring of a lifetime.'

With a crestfallen look, he sat back down, and fidgeted. 'But can't I just - '

'No,' I said. And I left.

As I descended the stairs, in my chubby-cow PJ's, (EVER so sexy,) my eyes were kind of misty. I didn't know why. I just - it wasn't a cool time at the moment. I was apprehensive about how I was about to be treated. CeeCee and Adam are great. But . . . I was still worried. I didn't want their stupid sympathy, or, "Poor Susie . . . press charges . . . let Paul or Jesse take care of him!"s. I just wanted to do it on my own.

So I didn't even know why I was going to talk to them. I knew what they'd say.

But when I got down to the kitchen, only Paul was there, sitting on the bench, drinking Jack Daniels straight from the bottle.

. . . Um . . . yay?

At the doorway, I kind of froze. I didn't want to talk to him. I hated him. He was - wait.

'Why the hell did you tell her?' came my cold voice.

Paul looked up. Then he groaned. I saw that his stupid alcohol had barely been touched. God. If Dani doesn't go ENOUGH, she's turning her BOYFRIEND into an alcoholic.

'Don't drink it,' I said.

_That's what he does._

'Why the fuck not?' Paul asked bluntly.

Erm . . . okay. Potty mouth, much?

'What's with you?' I asked.

He laughed. 'What, in your language, translates to "the whole frigging world"?'

I believe that's of the most ancient tongue, **_qwoicaaqmeffy._**

I didn't really feel like asking. I didn't want it to be my problem. But I felt obligated to. 'What's with Dani?'

Paul, still not looking at me, just laughed. 'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Not really, actually,' I replied with a glare. 'I just want to know why you TOLD her about Cole.'

He went to take another swig of his stupid drink, but a stab of anger made me flush, and the bottle shattered in his hands. He flinched as the shards flew everywhere, and the liquid stained his pants.

Then he glared up at me. 'What the hell did you do that for?' he demanded.

I swallowed. Good question. I hadn't actually meant to - I mean, that WAS accidental - hell, he damn well deserved it.

'What the hell did you tell Dani for?' I rejoined snappily. 'Any reason? What, was she feeling down or something, and you wanted to cheer her up? Bet that made her over the moon. Little Sue gets bashed. Fun for all the family - '

He looked pained at the mention of Dani.

'What?' I stopped.

'Suze,' he said tiredly, 'Just - just get out of here.'

I crossed my arms, and entered the kitchen. I smirked - an action of cruelty. 'She dump you or something?'

That WAS meant to be a parody of, you know, that time in the breezeway years ago when Father Dom told me Jesse didn't want me.

Little did I know the Her Royal Britishness HAD actually done something of that sort.

'Oh,' I said with a nasty grin. 'Right.'

Paul gave me a look of poison. He was breathing faster than one usually breathes. 'Go to bed, Suze.'

'What happened – ?'

'GO!' he yelled at me, standing up, his eyes fierce and furious. 'God, you – ' he spun away sharply. 'It's none of your business.'

'No, come on, Paulie . . . it's all my business. Everything about ME is apparently your business, so what?' I pried rudely.

Paul gave me one glare of ferocity, before suddenly grabbing me by the wrist, and dematerializing the both of us to what appeared to be one of the stupid dorms on third or fourth floor of Fortunaschwein. Obviously because he didn't like being overheard.

Pfft. Anti-eavesdropping Nazi . . .

The room's light globe had been smashed. Three guesses who did that. Probably _all_ of those guesses could have been correct, even.

'Look,' he said furiously, 'You'd better _fucking_ stay out of this Suze, or God help me – '

'What's that supposed to mean?' I laughed with no humour. 'What – you'll _hit _me or something?'

He looked like he freaking wanted to. 'Shut up.'

Wow. Mature, isn't he.

'NO,' I snapped. 'No, I WON'T shut up. Your life isn't as perfect as you pretend, _is it._'

'Life isn't perfect, Suze,' he retorted. 'No one's is. Life is getting to the next frigging day without getting stabbed in the back. And nothing else.'

'Wow, that's optimistic.'

'Yeah,' he agreed with my sarcasm. 'Well – yeah. You're partly to contribute to this lack of optimism, Suze. God, tell me one thing,' his voice got louder. 'Five years ago, why the HELL did you go to Big Sur with me?'

I tried to think of a lie.

'ANSWER ME,' he yelled in my face, grabbing my shoulders. My eyes widened. I couldn't think of anything to say.

'Ha. You know why. You won't tell me, because you know I'm right.'

'What do you – '

'Jesse.'

I jerked away from him. 'God, Paul! You ALWAYS blame all of your shit on HIM.'

'You just don't want me to corrupt your perfect image of him, do you?' Whoa . . . he – he thought I was still in love with him. Jesse, I mean.

'No,' I snapped. 'I don't like hearing _anything_ that comes out of your mouth. Least of all things about him. I know what he's like, I don't need YOUR crummy interpretation of him. He's _better_ than you, Paul – '

'Yeah RIGHT,' he laughed in ire. 'HIM? One, I'm not competing with HIM. I _know_ I'm better than _him_. And two, if I WAS competing, there's nothing to be won anymore. You? God, I'm _over you_, Suze,' he glared hatefully at me. 'You weren't worth it because you NEVER did want me. I was the one you would run to when things got bad between you and de Silva. And then when things were right, you would say I _lured_ you into it or some bullshit like that.'

I flushed. 'That is _so_ – ' I swallowed. 'It's too late for this – ' I turned for the door.

'NO,' he butted in, seizing my wrist and yanking me rather unceremoniously back, 'We're NOT DONE – '

'Don't you TOUCH me!' I shrilled, and with my free hand, I slapped his face, _hard_.

He only laughed at me. With a reckless grin, he was all, 'Getting a little hot and bothered, Suze?' He still had his iron hold in place on my wrist.

A horrible feeling rushed through me. Paul was angry. No – he really was. I've seen guys in this state before. They're capable of _anything_.

'Fuck you,' I swore through gritted teeth.

Again, he only laughed condescendingly. 'Truth hurts, doesn't it, Simon?'

My heart was going so fast, so loud, so – I wouldn't have been surprised if he could feel, or at least _sense_ the wild pace of my pounding heart. He was scaring me.

'That is SO not the truth,' I shouted in his face. 'Paul – let GO of my hand already – '

'You're always running away from the truth,' he snapped. 'Well, you can't run now. You have to look it in the eyes, Suze,' he glared at me, making my breathing ability falter.

'Why do you TALK like that?' I asked, my voice hiiiiiiiigh. 'NO ONE talks like that, Paul.'

'I WANT YOU TO SEE!' he yelled. 'OPEN YOUR DAMNED EYES FOR ONCE.'

I winced at his volume. This wasn't a logical argument . . . 'They're OPEN God damn it!'

'NOT ENOUGH!'

'God, Paul, fuck _off!_'

'YOU SEE NOTHING, SUZE! AND WHEN YOU DO, YOU _HIDE_ FROM IT.' His grip on my wrist restricted further. I flinched.

'What the HELL am I hiding from now?' I demanded hotly. My forehead was scorching. My skin was all hot. My heart wasn't slowing down. I felt dizzy. My knees wanted to give way.

He ignored me. 'Running, and HIDING and PRETENDING that it doesn't EXIST – '

He's cracked.

'AND IT DOES!'

'WHAT IS "IT", PAUL?' my voice crackled.

'_THIS_,' he roared.

. . . And he pulled me into the most desperate, full-blown kiss that affected my every inch like a volcanic eruption.

The _passion_ and _abandon_ was intoxicating. And shit, I responded in a way that I could _not_ have ever predicted.

The world started spinning, and shattering, and breaking as I knew it. Logic, reason, sanity, bitterness and pride crumbled away. My mind was roaring with unidentifiable words. The pain and hate was still there . . . that was the core of my fire.

My world of grey dipped into one of black and red, and torrid passion. Paul Slater was kissing me, and – I didn't know why, but I was kissing him back. _So_ much.

He gripped me into him angrily. Like he was blaming me. I didn't know what for.

God, I didn't know _how_, _when_, or _why_. All I knew was, if he didn't keep touching me and kissing me like that, life would be cut off.

A chain reaction of white-hot sensations followed from his kiss. My body felt like it had burst into flame. And my mind just stopped functioning, as the primal urges of my flesh took control. It was wrong. It was illicit. Sinful. Iniquitous. Immoral. Wicked. Insane. Fallacious. Illogical in every single way –

But God knows I loved it like I've never loved anything so wrong before. After so long . . . this was something I _wanted._

Addiction was trickling over me like a dark, unseen influence that made the ice wall surrounding my heart show signs of fracture.

It took a fault in time for me to twist my lips away from his demanding ones, and go, 'What are we – !'

But he didn't care. Almost as much as I didn't.

He shoved me back on the dormitory bed, his hands never leaving my body. I moaned from the painful pleasure of it.

God . . . it'd been _so long_ . . .

He pressed me deeper into the mattress, and I couldn't breath. I was scared. I hated him. I was FURIOUS that HE could make me FEEL like that, and make me want – no, _need_ more . . .

But WHY? I just didn't understand how I could – or, you know, how _far_ he'd –

_Hey. Suze?_

_Just . . . stop thinking._

And the thinking part of my mind then completely disconnected from my body, as mind-shattering pleasure took its deadly toll.

- 8 -

_Crime of Passion:_

_Courts of law sometimes view the illegal event more sympathetically as a crime of passion —_

_A physical outbreak of intense emotion._

- 8 -

Warmth is not a sensation that Susannah Simon is accustomed with. Usually, her world is one that is dark, cold, and grey. Occasionally there's a flare of light, though only to be extinguished quickly by forces that set out to destroy every glimmer of hope present in this realm of ice and shadow.

On the rare occasion that this world is laced with a gentle glow and a pleasant heat, a wonderful feeling washes over said Miss Simon.

So yeah. There I was, feeling warm.

As aforementioned, I don't often feel this way. In fact, I can't remember the last time that I truly felt like this. Warm not just physically, but also in the depths of my soul.

It was weird. I mean, I wasn't used to it. My eyes were heavy and my body was tired, but I did not, for once, feel like nothing would improve when I woke up. The warmth was a lingering one, that draped my every inch, and held me safe temporarily.

I didn't know for how long. But long enough.

There exists, a place between asleep and awake. That was where I was. Having escaped empty dreams of colours that were not blue or grey, I had not yet opened my eyes or established where, in fact, I was. All I knew was that it was a place I didn't want to leave.

It was when I finally determined the immediate source of warmth on my body that the uncertainty and the fear started to trickle in.

. . . I had just slept with Paul Slater.

He was there, beside me. I could feel him breathing.

Fingers were running down my spine. It was a sensation that would have thrilled anyone. Consciousness was setting in even more and I was able to locate all the entangled parts of my body. My arm, (now officially numb) was beneath him. My head was rested on his chest. I felt it rise and fall with each breath. My other warm was thrown haphazardously across him. His lazy fingers were wreaking a sinful havoc across the skin of my back.

Mental images flashed across my mind. Noises, voices, moans of pleasure echoed in my ears, a ghost from the night before.

You think I felt ashamed?

Hell NO.

I remembered everything. Which, you know, is kinda gross. But I did. Every detail, every movement, every feeling, every plea for him to stop as well as for him to not, every touch . . . it was all clear in my mind.

And now I was feeling terrified.

I mean . . . I'd just GIVEN myself to him. He was - you know. I mean, yeah, we've made it pretty clear that I'm not exactly experienced in -

God. You wouldn't believe that I am a twenty three year old woman, would you? I act like an eighth grader or something.

Okay. For the record; Paul was my, um, first . . . you know. That thing. Yeah. THAT thing.

AND IT WAS FREAKIN' SCARY.

I mean, I hadn't DONE anything like this before. Make out, yes. Removal of top, yes. Removal of bra? NO. Removal of PANTS?

NO.

I was just that prudish.

But, erm, Paul had just got the WHOLE cow and the four stomachs.

So I wasn't, you know, exactly sure about what to do next. God knew that he wasn't to impressed with my crappy performance. Anticipation was drowning me, now. I was so worried that he'd wake up, and . . . you know, tell me I had to go . . .

But you want to hear something really shameful?

I didn't regret it.

I mean . . . that - with Paul - that had been . . . whoa . . . and, you know, just - whoa.

Not to say I enjoyed it. I mean, sometimes I did. But more often than not, it . . . um . . . hurt. And, you know, I didn't know what to do or anything and it was just scary and he was obviously, er, pretty good at his thang.

Though I don't know why . . . the whole thing was like, scary in this way that - you know, it was new and such a huge thing - the act, not - erm, well him too I think - and yeah. I can't really explain it. Logic seemed to be something that was failing me. Logic, morality, and confidence.

Seriously. I mean, I couldn't even let him know I was AWAKE. Yeah, wow, we have a great running relationship, don't we?

Well, sorry. But Paul's the kind of guy you'd just think of to be not-so-nice after something like that. I don't know why. Just, it'd be like, if he DIDN'T think you were good enough or something, he'd be all, '. . . Er, I'll uh . . . call you. Don't call me,' and then he'd never speak to you again.

And that was what had me gripped in terror. I mean . . . the prospect of him doing something like that after how much I'd just given to him.

Yes, I'm pretty well aware that I'm making no kind of sense. But you get that.

The feeling of his fingers across my skin was becoming harder and harder to resist. All I wanted to do was shudder from his touch but I didn't actually want him to know that I wasn't sleeping still. I mean . . . that would probably lead to talking. Or dissing due to lack of sexual skills, whatever came first. When his grazing hand dipped to my lower back though, my hand on his arm tensed hard in an effort to make no noise, alerting him that I was indeed awake.

He stopped completely. The breath that had been tickling my neck even stopped.

Then he was all, ' . . . Hi.'

Wow. That was lame. He screws a girl and then is all "Hi."

Well, I can do that too.

'Uh . . . hi.'

See? Look at me go.

. . . Okay, this was going to suck.

I swallowed, and debated whether to look at him or not. I mean . . . did I really not to? Was I ready to be rejected so badly?

. . . Erm, not really.

But I did anyway.

I shifted my head so it was no longer resting just on his shoulder and a little against his neck, and then I twisted a little, and looked up at him warily.

Whoa . . . now there's a smug lookin' guy.

Erm . . . yay?

I blinked a little, trying to think of something to say. The feeling of him against me was having quite an effect on my ability of speech. As in, it just wasn't happening.

Seriously, though . . . he looked . . . ugh.

No wonder bloody Dani didn't dump him. If anyone got to see someone looking like that every morning, they'd hang onto them and outright refuse to let go.

As a distraction, (for me, NOT him) I just checked that the covers were, erm, FIRMLY pulled over my chest and that nothing worthy of censorship was in sight. Nope. All good. I mean, well, it didn't exactly matter if he couldn't see them.

They were kind of leaning on him.

. . . Which is so gross, I'm sorry . . . I should shut up -

Oh, God, this was awkward.

Seriously, the pair of us were just LYING there. I don't think that either one of us could think of anything to say. I mean, the only things that were coming to my head were kind of gross.

I'm sure you'll agree that "nice dick" sounds kind of crude.

Well, be rest assured. Paul Slater was NOT an assassin.

We all know that assassins do it from behind.

Cough.

'Um,' I said, ' . . . Good morning.'

GOOD MORNING! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

YOU DON'T _SAY_ THAT TO SOMEONE YOU JUST – YOU KNOW.

But I guess it was that that made him grin.

'Morning, Suze,' he smirked.

His gaze was one that was oozing of confidence. It had a hold on me, one so dominant that I couldn't look away. It was like I was awaiting instructions, or something.

God, this was so scary . . .

You watch. As soon as the conversation gets wooden enough, he'll be all, "Look Suze, you're great. Really. Just . . . you know, you're not my type . . . sorry toots. Now get out."

'Sleep well?' he asked with a humoured curiosity.

I forced a smile. 'Yeah, by the time we actually got to sl - '

I broke off very suddenly with a hideous blush.

I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO MENTION THE PREVIOUS NIGHT'S EVENTS THIS EARLY IN THE TALK! AAAH!

He started laughing.

Paul had a nice smile. I mean, I probably would have appreciated it more if I wasn't emotionally preparing myself for the dissing of a lifetime.

I mean, I knew it was coming. I knew it. You can't just . . .

Look, never mind.

Paul took a deep breath, and one of his hands came to my hair, and he started playing with it. Sorry, but that made my heart start thudding.

I mean, it didn't take all that much for Paul Slater to have that effect on me. But it was kind of in OVER-DRIVE at the moment. Can't imagine why.

I guess seeing someone naked can do that to you.

. . . Eww, Suze.

I closed my eyes, and said, 'Stop it.'

Of course, I meant the opposite. And by now, he knew that well.

In something of a dazed stupor, I was still staring into his eyes, but . . . kind of past them, you know? I dunno. Not actually AT them. I mean, I saw their icy blueness. It was like the sky just before sunrise, now. That grey-blue colour. Frozen.

Then I remembered the night before with a kind of . . . like, you know, it was a memory from a long time ago. Like so much time had passed since that moment when I had been so insanely mad at him. How I'd hated him with my every inch. How I didn't think death was bad enough for him.

And then how hard I'd been kissing him . . .

It seemed so illogical, the events that had followed from a fury that had been present in the pair of us then. I mean . . . while so mad at him, I couldn't have EVER anticipated doing . . . what I did.

Which I still didn't feel guilty about.

I know. I KNOW. I should have been cringing in my GRAVE from the shame.

But somehow . . . the prospect of giving something so precious to Paul didn't seem so repulsive.

Then again, I was kind of high on the fact that my skin was undergoing the most severe pleasure then, so ignore me.

After forever, I looked away. His gaze had started to be burnt into my memory. Which could have been a good or a bad thing. I was still unable to predict his next move; how he'd treat me; what he'd say . . .

Again, I rested the side of my face on his chest, and sighed. The rippling contours of his abdomen were truly a sight to see. Everything looked so perfectly sculpted.

Like Michelangelo's David or something.

Except . . . well, no offense to Michelangelo, but that guy was TINY.

I think Paul deserves a bit more credit than him.

My hand looked pale against Paul's tan. Seriously. I still didn't get how HE had found a way to be out in the sun all day long enough to acquire a decent one. My skin never seemed to tan anymore. Not much, anyway.

But that wasn't the point.

You know the funny thing?

. . . I wasn't scared of Paul Slater anymore.

I mean, I was. In a different way, now. First I had feared my life. Then I had feared my virtue. Now he'd conquered that, I feared my heart, and wondered how much it could actually take.

So, with Paul still grazing his fingers across my skin, I just lay with him, the warmth once again settling over me like warm feathers.

The occasional ice-cube would spoil my perfect eiderdown, as I'd remember something wrong, but it wouldn't last long. I'd block it from my mind.

I swear, thinking is never a good thing to do after you've just been done by Paul Slater.

Not only is it depressing, but it's downright dangerous.

Paul cleared his throat lightly, still touching me. 'Suze?' he asked softly, in a voice that had more tenderness than I could have hoped for.

Oh well . . . the rejection would come . . . just you wait, Suze, he won't disappoint.

'Hmm?' I said nervously.

'What are you thinking?'

. . . What a weird question.

'Uhhhh . . . ' I stalled. Wow. How to answer THAT? 'Just that . . . I guess I should be feeling guilty about . . . what we did . . . ' I trialed off, curling my fingers against his chest. Pangs of coldness were pressing against my skin.

His fingers paused momentarily on my back. Then, he dragged them to my arm and resumed thoughtfully. 'We should. But I'm not.'

'It's like,' I went on, 'I feel guilty that I'm not feeling guilty. I don't know . . . it's stupid - '

'I know what you mean,' he interrupted me. 'But I don't care anymore, Suze. I really don't. Guilt can go screw itself. I'm past it now.'

I smiled weakly. 'I know what you mean . . . not caring . . . '

And yet I did care. Just . . . for something different that I expected.

I shuffled around so I was no longer facing him. I frowned. My forehead hurt. Then, I felt his arm drape heavily over me.

The fact that he still wanted to touch me was something that cheered me up a little. I mean . . . at least he wasn't disgusted. Yet.

With a sigh, I rolled back my shoulder into him. I could feel his warm breath now on my earlobe. It tickled inside my ear.

Now, the licks of coldness were more frequent. I was so scared that I would lose the warmth that was haunting me. I wanted it to stay so badly. I slid my arm out so I was no longer lying on it, and I wrapped it around myself, resting it on the arm that he'd cast over me. I was getting colder . . .

'Suze?' he said again uncertainly, 'Are you okay?'

I didn't answer for a moment.

Then I responded with a pretty unconvincing, 'Uh . . . fine.'

Oh yeah. That word means nothing to Paul when it comes from me. Whenever I say that . . . he KNOWS it's something else.

So I guess that was what possessed him to, oh, I dunno, rip me back around so suddenly, I WAS ON MY BACK, and he was lying over me, giving me an intense look of analysis. My eyes were his ABC books. He could read me with astounding ease.

I found myself, once again, breathing harder than I should have. Clenching images from the night before made me shudder from the familiarity of him over me like that. In a good and bad way.

As in . . . well . . . it wasn't something that I hated, as such.

You can't hate something that feels that good.

'What's wrong?' he pried, pinning me down.

I blinked up at him. God . . . he looked hot . . . he - SUZE, EYE-RAPING THE BAD MAN, OKAY?

'Nothing's wrong,' I said quickly.

I didn't move. Which, you know, I didn't exactly have a big PROBLEM with.

He gently ran his knuckle down the side of my face, with something like affection. 'Did I . . . did I hurt you? Last night, I mean.'

I went a dark shade of red. Ooooooh, crap . . .

'Uh - ' I started. He knew. Shit, he knew.

NUH, SUZE. I THINK IT WAS KIND OF OBVIOUS WHEN YOU ALMOST STARTED CRYING WHEN HE - DID THAT . . . er . . . sexy thing.

Cough.

'Um,' I elaborated.

He exhaled, and with his hand, caressed the side of my face. For some reason, I just couldn't imagine him doing that to any other girl. Cupping their face, I mean. It just seemed . . . unlike him.

It made me feel special that it was MY face he was touching like that.

Uncomfortably, he said, 'Was that your first . . . time?'

Before nodding, I looked away.

Okay, now I felt like a sucky loser.

GOD, PAUL. I MEAN, WHO EVEN _ASKS_ THAT? THAT'S JUST WEIRD.

I guess it was understandable, though. I mean . . . I had kind of made a scene when . . . um . . . certain sheets of paper were going in the printer.

If you don't understand that . . . don't ask. Really, _don't_.

I guess that I was kind of wigging out from the sheer SPEED of everything. I mean, it was making my head spin. Almost get killed . . . have an argument . . . sleep with a guy I've hated for so many years . . .

Hey. At least my life isn't boring . . . right?

Ugh. I darn well wish it was sometimes.

Paul's look changed again, into one that was very soft. Again, he tickled the back of his hand down my cheek, and I sighed. There was a light smile on his face. I didn't know why, exactly. I mean . . . I don't think it had anything to do with "I JUST NAILED SUZE SIMON. SCORE!" or anything.

His smile was meant to be read on a connotative level.

But I suck at deeper meanings to stuff.

'You think I suck now, don't you?' I said crummily. 'Oh well, I'm pretty aware that I am, in every way, a loser – '

'I don't think that,' he corrected me. He leant down, and kissed just above my left eyebrow. Still smiling that little smile.

And soon, I guess I was smiling like that.

. . . Oh, shut up.

Still feeling scared about what was, and what indeed HAD happened, I just closed my eyes. He came back to my side, and pulled me into him, my hair crumpled in his hand.

'You're beautiful,' he whispered in my ear.

. . . Um . . . okay . . . That was random. I mean, you can't exactly be all, "LIAR! DIE, FOOL!" when someone compliments you. You just can't. And you can't go "thanks," when you technically don't believe what the other person is saying.

But you can stay silent.

Silence is good.

Ha. We weren't exactly employing it the night before . . . eww . . .

I couldn't understand why, but it was like EVERYTHING else in the world had stopped, due to the semi-terrifying one I'd just created with Paul. Rare thoughts were being filtered into my mind, and I was not capable of thinking about ANYTHING but what we'd done together, and how it had felt . . .

We were breathing at the same time, now. Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . in . . . out . . .

A _motion_ I knew damn well now.

How I shudder.

I didn't understand so many things. I mean . . . what had changed between the two of us? Since when had we stopped hating each other? I didn't get it. I mean . . . there were things that I still hated about him. A lot of things.

How on earth can you be intimate with someone you hate so much?

It didn't make any sense. None. I mean, also about the whole no-shame thing. I SHOULD have felt ashamed of myself. I'd turned into exactly what he'd said.

Well, not exactly. I wasn't exactly JESSE'S whore, was I?

Ugh.

But, I just felt like I couldn't feel bad. Which was horrible. I mean, I knew perfectly well that I should have felt bad about what I had done. I mean . . . eww . . .

It was hard to feel wrong, though, when things felt right.

Just – they SHOULDN'T have.

You know?

'So,' Paul said, 'you're . . . okay?'

I murmured a, 'Yeah. Just . . . I just w – nothing.'

'What?'

'Never mind.'

'No, tell me.'

I sighed, as his hand stopped delighting the skin on my arms so he could listen. 'What have we done?'

Paul must have been under the impression that that question was a rhetorical one, because he only responded with a solemn, 'Hmm.'

The niggling enquiry soon was put on the back burner again as he trailed his fingers up my hip, beneath the blanket. I shut up pretty quickly with that, and closed my eyes.

. . . Erm . . . again, not all that interested in talking.

A gentle, muted light was bathing the room in colours that were not warm, but not cold. More of in a cool, neutral way. I dunno. It was restful.

I smiled a little, trying to think of something to break the silence which, in itself, had become a sound. 'You totally hog the covers,' I giggled.

GIGGLED.

OH GOD ALMIGHTY, SMITE ME WHERE I LAY.

I felt Paul's grin. 'Ha, Dani says that too.'

. . . And there you go. I'd successfully pinpointed something to feel bad about.

Oh my God.

_Dani_.

My whole body suddenly tensed, and I moved away from his warm form. 'Paul.'

His lazy grin faded a little. 'Uh huh?'

'Dani,' I said. 'Oh my God – I'm . . . I'm so sorry – ' And with that, I started moving, with the intention of leaving, in an effort to avoid the inevitable, impending, "Oh yeah, her. In that case, Suze, have a nice life," scenario.

His eyes went a little empty for a moment. He was frowning, looking pained. 'Don't be sorry,' he said after a few seconds, as his hand came gently to my wrist, pulling me back to him, 'She doesn't have anything to do with this. Suze, it's over. You heard us fighting. That was it. She doesn't want anything to do with me. I was trying to help her, and – ' he forced a look of nonchalance, 'Don't be sorry.'

'You're not ending it because of – _this_,' I asked anxiously.

He laughed. His hair didn't look so perfectly curly. It was tousled and messy. Probably due to the amount of times I'd dragged my hands through it. Obviously, he hadn't shaved this morning. I could see the emergence of a shadow of facial hair across the lower part of his face. His skin seemed so deeply tanned. You know, like there was hot blood pumping beneath it. Which there was.

. . . Paul wasn't as cold blooded as I had always assumed he was.

Which doesn't really make sense. I mean, I'M not a callous person, and I'm always cold and un-tanned-looking. And . . .erm, stuff. Why couldn't I be warm like him?

What is it about a person that gives them body heat? I mean, is it just something genetic? Like, some chromosome that gave the instruction for YES, BODY HEAT in the body? If so, why didn't I get it? Why is it that I always had to be cold? Even when I had warm blood?

I didn't get it.

I didn't get ANYTHING.

'No,' he reassured me. 'Not because of this. Suze, this wasn't some mistake, okay? At least . . . not for me,' he added. 'Can't speak for you though, I guess. Can I?'

. . . I dunno. Could he?

WAS it a mistake? I mean, in the grand scheme of things, was I going to look back and regret what I'd done? Was I going to live in fear of ever feeling passion like that again?

And what if he was just bullshitting again? I mean, all the guys did it. And lets face it; Paul was an all the guys type of guy, most of the time. So I didn't know whether I could trust him. Cole Kennedy had made it so my body was a fragile thing.

But my heart was even more so.

And I was not ready for it to be shattered again. Not after what Jesse had done to it so long ago.

I wasn't sure if I was ready for ANYTHING. I mean . . . everything was moving so fast that it seemed to be blurred. Things kept on happening. Big things. Things that had impact on me. It scared me.

But, you know, this by far took the cake.

I mean, a girl only gets one chance at virginity. After that, you know, there's no more.

And yeah, I just LOST MINE, OKAY?

SO IT WAS PRETTY HIGH ON MY THINGS-THAT-HAPPENED-TO-ME-TODAY LIST.

'What did we do, Paul?' I asked him again in a quiet voice.

He gave me a duh-what-do-YOU-think? look, and was all, EVER so bluntly, 'We had sex, Suze.'

Thank the frigging LORD he didn't call it making love. I would have snapped if he had. Because that actually requires love. And I'm not quite sure that exists between me and Paul Slater.

I mean . . . I'm not an idiot. There was something. Something so strong that it made us . . . um . . . do that sexy thing. But God, LOVE didn't HAVE to be responsible for THAT. I wasn't even sure if LUST was. I mean, yes. I found Paul attractive. Very much so. But just his LOOKS couldn't cause me to do the things I'd done.

. . . It was like something bigger was at work. Greater than me.

Something out of control, wild, and angry.

Like my shifter thingie. You know . . . when it just took over me . . . like a possession, or something . . .

Except, you know, when that happened, it never felt like ME.

With Paul, I had never felt more like Susannah Simon in my whole life.

Whether that was a good or a bad thing, I can't sure.

I cracked an anxious grin, and looked away. 'Right,' I said.

Because, you know, that was a pretty scary thought. Just remembering all the things he'd made me feel made me shiver. 'I don't think it was a mistake,' I said quietly, my eyes reaching his again. He was facing me, his gaze riveted and intense. Then, he smiled a little, brought his thumb to my face and grazed it across my skin. I didn't say anything. The sound of silence was one that I was growing fond of, when I was with Paul.

'Suze,' he closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry.'

Uh oh. This is it. _I'm sorry, but due to your poor sexual abilities, you have turned me off women completely. I shall now go frolic with Miles. He can meet my new manly needs._

I turned someone gay because I suck in bed! OH GOD.

I swallowed. 'Er . . . why?'

_Because I prefer sausage to taco. Isn't it obvious?_

I have GOT to stop watching 50 First Dates.

He opened his eyes again, stared at me for a second, and pulled me that little bit closer to him again. Like he needed to keep touching me or something. Like it wasn't real enough for him. Like he was scared that it wasn't actually happening.

I know I was.

I was flush up against him now. The body heat came swarming back over me, and again, I stopped feeling so cold.

'Because I'm an idiot,' he said.

'I could have told you that.'

'Hmm,' he agreed. 'I'm sorry . . . about everything.'

I didn't follow. My expression must have revealed this, because he sighed, and then looked back at me again, like I was dragging him across a pit of hot coals, or something.

'Everything,' he detailed. 'How long it really took me to realize that I had never gotten over you five years ago.'

All the muscles in my body suddenly went deadly rigid, as if they too were listening to his words.

He went on, 'I've been kidding myself since then, Suze. I thought I'd be over you. I mean . . . God, what kind of guy doesn't forget a girl after _five years_? That's just – whatever. The point was, I wanted to hate you. And a part of me did. But that was only because the other part of me wanted you so badly.'

_. . . Wanted you so badly_ . . . No poof talks like THAT. Unless he was delusional, and thought I had a man-bit when I obviously did not.

GOD, I'm so WEIRD! Not now Suze, okay? Important Slater-speech here, now LISTEN, YOU RETARD.

'Oh,' I said lightly. 'So . . . that's why you went and fell in love with Britain's hottest supermodel?'

Wow. The bitch DOES have teeth.

He groaned. 'Love? You think I love Dani?'

I rolled onto my back and rolled my eyes. 'I don't know. Do you?'

If he still did, and he just slept with ME, I seriously would recommend that they see a counselor about their cheating issues.

Paul, again, laughed. 'Oh God . . . Suze, listen. I – me and Dani, we're – we met at – I don't love her, okay? She doesn't love me.'

'So she's your bed buddy,' I concluded crudely.

Paul snorted. 'It sounds bad when you put it that way.'

'It _is_ bad,' I snapped, 'To have a relationship based on – _that_. It's a lie. Another one to add to your long list. And another reason not to trust you – '

He yanked me so I was facing him. 'Suze, look. I've been a jerk. I know that – '

'Jerk is a mild word for it,' I replied aloofly.

'Please,' he said angrily. 'Dani, she – I don't know what she is to me. Or what I am to her. I don't think it's supposed to make sense. All I know is, she needs serious help. She's really sick. And she's not listening to me. But that's not what I'm trying to say – '

'Is that why you broke up?' I asked quietly.

He sighed, and grinned with no humour. 'She said _I_ made her like that . . . '

I rolled my eyes. 'God. She's blaming you. Well, don't think that you caused her stupid eating disorder or whatever she has. I get her, now. I mean . . . I thought she was just a b – really mean person,' I censored quickly, 'But, well, now I get that she's just . . . you know.'

'Yeah,' Paul said. 'I know.'

Good.

After Psychology-Suze disappeared, (gawd, I'm NEVER going to get a degree with a crappy diagnosis like that. Ha, ". . . you know." Wow. That's specific,) I lost my confidence again. 'So,' I said, 'Uh, what – I mean, you were saying before th – '

'Yeah,' he muttered. He pushed my hair behind my ear, looking like he was taking so much care to do so. He parted his lips, as he went to say something, with eyes that looked, for a split second, almost as vulnerable as Danielle Moore had yesterday.

Then he closed his mouth again, blinked, and the look was gone.

What the HELL had he been about to say?

'So whatever,' he said. 'I guess Dani was just another attempt to get you out of my head.'

'That's why you always find it necessary to kiss her in front of me,' I murmured wryly.

He grinned, sheepish. 'I _told_ you, I'm an idiot. I wanted to get you jealous. How mature is that, though? Wanting you to feel the same pain I felt?' He too, rolled on his back, and glared up at the ceiling. The bit of chest that wasn't covered by the blanket was tanned, compared to the white sheets.

I still have no idea how lawyers find time to work out that much.

Meh. It seemed to be a pretty easy job, seeing as he had gotten this time off of work to come to a school . . . kick ghosts out . . . save stupid brunettes from drowning . . . sleep with said stupid brunettes . . .

Ya know. Same ol' same ol.

'Why have you been such a dick, though? I mean – ' I went kind of red, 'While we're on the topic of your idiocy, why the hell did you say that to me?'

'Say wh – ' he began, but his face changed. 'Oh. That.'

'Yeah,' my eyes went cold. 'That.'

He lifted his hand to his hair. Eww. Armpit hair. Sorry, that always freaks me out. I mean . . . even on guys, I get scared by it. It's just like . . . demonic or something. I mean, God must have serious issues if He decided to randomly throw wads of hair under someone's arms, when it would only ever be shaved off. There is no point to armpit hair. I mean, eyebrows and eyelashes are there to protect ones' eyes. But armpits, what the hell do THEY do?

Besides look gross.

Unless, of course, you're a twenty-three-year-old man with so much sex appeal that armpit hair suddenly isn't a turn off.

But whatever, where was I? Oh yeah. He lifted his hand to his hair, and looked really pained. Like he too had a bruise, and I was repeatedly poking it.

Big deal.

'Simple as this,' he explained. 'I wanted to hate you.'

. . . Uh, yay?

'That's what every girl loves to hear,' I said sarcastically.

'No – ' he groaned. 'I – ' Now he REALLY looked stuck. Like he wanted to say something, but really didn't want to. 'I hated the stupid hold that you had over me. One you've had over me since the day I met you. And it wasn't going away, which pissed me off. I mean, the fact that I still wanted you was really hard to live with. And when we had to be on this job together, I was like, " . . . shit," because – well, old feelings die hard.'

So . . . ?

'And yeah, by wanting to hate you, I guess I tried painting a picture for myself, one that would disgust me and _make_ me hate you. Anything to make those feelings stop. But I screwed up bad that night at the club.'

'What do you – '

'I asked you to dance,' he turned back to face me, with eyes that looked kind of apprehensive. They looked greyer than their usual cold-steel blue. 'And after dancing with you,' he said, '_Fuck_, I wanted to kiss you . . . '

Another violent shiver ravished me then. But in a very, very, very good way.

'Oh, God,' I said in realization.

'And because of that, I was mad at myself . . . and I retaliated for my benefit, trying to again paint you in my head as someone I _could_ hate,' he went on quickly. 'But damn, Suze. I can't _hate you_. I wish I could, but I can't. I hate what you _do_, and what you make me _feel_. But I'll never hate you.'

There was so much unsaid. Questions I wanted to ask.

But he'd told me enough, for now. It was so hard to digest.

. . . This guy cared. I mean . . . I had just done something with him that was so special to me . . . and, you know what?

I was pretty certain that it was not something I'd regret.

At least . . . not _yet_.

I didn't know what happened to me then, but I felt this surge of something compelling, that rendered me very upset. I guess it was the delayed reaction to the whole sleeping-with-a-man-for-the-first-time-in-like-ever thing, or something. I didn't know.

It could have been something else, but I do not wish to go there.

And yeah, that made me suddenly need for him to be holding me. I moved into him, my eyes closed. As if an automatic movement, his arm wrapped around me affectionately. Being so close to him inspired a feeling that I couldn't hope to describe.

Nothing made sense anymore . . .

His face lowered to the side of my neck, where his lips lingered briefly. I could feel his breath, and I was pretty sure he could feel the dull thudding of my pulse. Then, he began leisurely kissing the skin there. It thrilled my nervous system beyond all reason. I gasped, muttering my highly ineffective, '_aaah_ . . . stop . . . '

Something that he, as usual, interpreted correctly.

I glanced down at his digital watch – something that was kind of hard, considering how he kept moving as I went to identify the numbers – and saw that it was _eight_.

'Paul, I should – _haha_ - go – ' I started, which made him pause. He gave me a smirk, and said, 'No. No, you shouldn't,' and returned to my neck. I tried not to encourage him too much more, although, _God_ he knew what he was doing . . .

'It's – eight – ' I said breathily.

'Eight. Nice number. Even. Single digit. So what . . . ?'

I wheezed. His kisses made it hard to breathe. In a good way. 'Cee and Adam are probably making breakfast by now, and so we should – '

Although, the sudden collision of his lips on mine made me completely forget what I was going to say.

And again, I was severely intoxicated by him.

He rolled me onto my back, lying on top of me. His chest was warm on mine through the sheet. His hands smoothed down my face, my neck, my shoulders, resting on my arms. It's kind of mind-blowing, that so much can be just . . . forgotten when he kissed me. It was like . . . immediate amnesia or something.

I was still scared by the fact that we'd done so much more than this last night. Kidding, I mean. And yeah, I was still freaked by the blurringly fast pace in which my world was spinning. I mean, I still couldn't see the connection in hating someone, then Doing Certain Things with them.

Unless I didn't hate him as much as I thought.

After all, there's a very fine line between hate and lo -

'Paul - ' I breathed, turning my head away. I shut my eyes from the pure sin that was coursing through me. It felt so good it almost hurt. His kisses wandered to my earlobe, and I half-laughed, half-cried. I mean, it was kind of funny, the amount of pleasure that a single pair of lips could induce.

A feeling of something strong was blossoming in my stomach, and was washing my mind clean like detergent to a grimy plate. This REALLY embarrassing moan-y noise erupted from my mouth. A major agitation was occurring in me, and I felt weird, and - and special and stuff and like I should have been doing something else.

His kiss was illicit and poisonous and ever so nice. I could feel his hand dip beneath the sheets, as he slid it down my stomach to the HIGHLY sensitive skin there. I kind of winced - again, in a good way, and he gave me a wicked smirk.

He knew what he was doing to me. And he loved it.

. . . Hmph. Asshole.

Kind of makes you see the difference between a guy like Jesse and a guy like Paul. I mean . . . Jesse would stop when I asked him to. He would be very guilty about his forward actions. He would avoid me after kissing me, even if the both of us had loved it.

Paul, though, was tuned into everything I felt. He picked up all the tiny signals - the movements, the expressions, the sounds I made - he pieced them together to discover my true reaction. When he found it, he wouldn't leave it alone because he knew exactly what I wanted, which was consequently what _he_ wanted.

And as much as I loved Jesse, that thing with him was frustrating. I can't blame him, though. It was his time of upbringing, and stuff. And he had morals.

Paul . . . I didn't know. His psyche was one that even I, budding psychologist, was too scared to explore.

With Paul, the thrill was there. It always had been. Being in his very presence had its danger.

And because I'm, of course, Susanna Simon, I only like, just figured this out.

Gawd.

I shuddered from his touch. He knew exactly where to effect me like that. He knew me. On a level that was so much higher than physical. Or emotional.

He knew me on an astral level, as well.

Which is something that _no one_ but a shifter can understand.

It had something to do with purpose, motive, intent and respect for all aspects of life, whether they be dead, undead, alive, or at peace.

I - I can't explain it. But it's something that was apart of me, and of him. And he knew me in that way.

He gently pulled his mouth away from me, and just kind of lay over me, supporting himself with his elbows on either side of my shoulders. He stared down at me, his eyes heavy with something that weighed more than ice.

'God,' he said softly.

'What?' I panicked. Oh my God - PIMPLE!

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!_

He smiled, and again, just stared.

WAS THE PIMPLE GROWING?

'No, what?' I was freaking by then.

IT WAS A BLACKHEAD, WASN'T IT.

SHIT.

OR WHAT IF IT WAS A COLD SORE?

OR HERPES?

Or - Meningococcal?

WHAT THE HELL IS MENINGOCOCCAL ANYWAY?

. . . Don't scream, don't scream, DON'T SCREAM –

'Suze?' he checked, 'Uh - '

'DO I HAVE SOMETHING ON MY FACE?' I demanded, terrified.

AND DO YOU HAVE AN STD? OR AIDS? BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU DO.

Again, he laughed. 'Yeah.'

F-YUCK!

'What?' I freaked.

He smirked. 'This.'

And he freaking kissed my cheek.

Okay. Now, some of you romantics may be sighing or whatever, or some corn-haters may be scoffing at the pure cheesiness of that.

BUT THAT FRIGGING SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME.

'That wasn't funny,' I said heatedly to him.

He grinned. 'It was for me.'

I narrowed me eyes. 'Right. Whatever. Well guess what?'

YOUR ARMPIT HAIR IS REALLY GROSS. TAKE THAT, SLATER FIEND.

'Hmm?'

'I have to go.'

His face fell. 'Don't.'

'That's what you get,' I sniffed at him, shoving him off of me. 'For scaring me.

'But I just _love_ to scare you,' he drawled in a low voice.

Okay - um . . . creepy much?

I shivered again. In that good way. 'Well, okay, turn around,' I said.

'Why?' he asked, giving me a weird look.

'I'm going to get dressed,' I said snobbily.

'Nothing I haven't seen before,' he said dryly, his eyes dancing. Playing with the fire that he, as a shifter, could control so well.

I fell a very deep shade of crimson. 'Shut up,' I snapped at him.

Anyway. It was DARK last night. I bet there's a lot of stuff he hasn't scene.

Pfft. Like - like my FEET.

He didn't go NEAR my feet. So there.

He groaned, supporting his head on his hand. The sheet was halfway down his torso.

Stop drooling, Simon.

My hands felt like shriveling up, or something. As if I couldn't go for that long without touching him. God, I swear, that chest was freakin' awesome. It was like - GOD.

There sound be a religion to worship that chest.

With a mantra.

And vanilla scented candles.

'Suze?' Paul prompted. 'I'm up here.'

SHITTINESS.

With a face now hotter than I thought possible, (and not in the good way) I blinked hurriedly, and huffily snapped, 'Turn around already!'

And I shoved a pillow in his face.

'If I must,' he muttered, turning around. The twisting of his muscular back was seriously a sight to see. Again, I stared at it for a moment, then came to my senses, and quickly slid from the bed, finding various articles of clothing littered on the floor and donning them. When I stood up, I was clad in my chubby-cow pajamas from last night.

'Uh,' I said, and he turned back to face me. A kind of happy smile came to his face.

That smile meant something to me.

The white sheets were lazily draped over his lower body, making him look like he was ready for a photoshoot or something. Ha. Seriously, someone could make a MAGAZINE on him for the middle-aged women with terrible sex-lives to ogle when their husbands couldn't get it up and didn't want to resort to viagra.

For a second we just stared at each other. Then I kind of motioned nervously to the door and was all, 'Uh - I'm gonna . . . have a shower.'

'Good call,' he said with a smirk. 'What might you be washing off, Ms. Simon?'

. . . Okay, ewww . . .

I wrinkled my nose. 'Gross, Paul.'

Which it WAS.

The silken fabric of my daisy boxers hung loosely from my hips. I felt weird in just that and a stupid tank top.

And underwear, of course.

Paul, however, didn't really seem to mind.

I felt like echoing that "I'm up here" crack, but I didn't.

'Okay,' he said, rolling on his back, still looking at me. He tossed his hands behind his head.

I swear to God, I was going to get a razor MYSELF and shave his armpits - okay . . . ewwwwwwwwww -

Sorry. I'm not cool when it comes to pubic hair.

Although, armpit hair may as well be called PUBLIC hair. Guys make no attempt to cover/get rid of it.

Honestly. Shame on them.

But seriously. It was like, Paul, confident much?

God. He KNEW he was pretty much a sex-god.

Hmph. LEAVING now.

'Suze?' he called malevolently. 'Forgetting something?'

I turned back, and put my hands on my hips. 'What?'

With his index finger, he dangled -

_My bra._

I glared ferociously, stalked back over to him, snatched it away, and stalked back to the door. 'Screw you,' I said.

'You just did,' he pointed out.

'Touché,' I replied.

He laughed at me. And I kind of laughed too.

Gmefsghijmm . . . pfft . . .

'I'll - erm, see you at breakfast,' I said. I still didn't know what the hell he was going to say to Dani. I mean, what? Was he just going to send her away, now? She only STAYED because he was here. God knows she wasn't an actual contribution to the SIA.

But what if he just went down and pretended like nothing happened? I mean, what if, at breakfast, he was like to Dani, 'Hey baby . . . nice sleep?' and kissed her, followed by a cutting glare at me saying DON'T-SAY-ANYTHING.

I'd die . . .

Crawl into a dark hole and die.

I already felt riddled with giddy fear about what was going to happen now. And God knows my whole body ached.

Because, erm . . . we were pretty pissed off at each other, if you catch my drift.

Snort.

'Yeah,' he nodded, smoothing his hair back a bit. In a okay-getting-a-little-nervous-here kind of way. The thing that Jesse did.

I've come to the conclusion that it's a guy thing.

With that now confirmed, I gave him a kind of guilty smile, and left the room. God. Random room, much?

It frigging better have been soundproof or my frigging life was frigging over.

God. Who knew those noises EXISTED.

I felt, um, kind of sore still. Not to go into detail (or location,) but yeah. Holding onto the wall a little, I made it successfully up to my room. There, I grabbed my required clothing for the day - purple halter neck, brown pocket-y jeans and my notorious Adidas sneakers, (and ALL of my underwear this time, hmph) and set off to take a VERY MUCH SO NEEDED SHOWER.

I certainly won't go into detail with that, either.

Suffice it to say - erm . . . no, I had better keep that to myself, too.

God. Sex was freakin' complicated.

When I reached the bathroom door, as soon as I touched it, I got a chill of something cold. My hand suddenly went rigid or something. A shiver ran through me.

In a bad way.

Like an instinct or something.

I shoved the door open determinedly -

'Eww,' I snapped, 'God, Dani, lock the door much?'

The shower was running gently. And there was no mistaking the flaming red hair through the glass.

God. My instincts are spot on. Walking in on Danielle Moore in the shower is _pretty horrible._

I backed out of the bathroom in deep disgust. Then I proceeded to the next bathroom on that floor.

Upon arrival, I dumped my stuff on the bench, and looked at the mirror momentarily. It wasn't a very big mirror. Obviously Fortunaschwein didn't want their macho guys to get too vain. But it was a mirror all the same. I inspected my face.

. . . No cold sore. It's okay, Suze, calm down. Get your blood pressure back to normal.

Thank God . . .

With a sigh of relief, I kind of smiled at nothing. Then, I turned the water of the shower on till it steamed, and stepped in.

_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah . . . That's the stuff . . ._

I think halfway through washing my hair did I suddenly start laughing uncontrollably. No, seriously. It was like a bubble in my stomach that wouldn't stop.

The fact that I had just slept with a man I had claimed to hate for like, seven years now or something, seemed suddenly HILARIOUS. I was sick with the giddy feeling in my stomach.

Whoa . . . I felt so strange . . . it was like my body was a different one.

In a good way.

Not, you know, Dani's stupid plastic-surgery-first-there-was-nothing-now-there-are-TITS way.

I dragged my hands through my wet hair. It felt smooth and clean. With all excess conditioner out, I stepped out of the shower, dried myself, dressed, towel-dried my hair, and then blow dried it quickly.

Rush job. But whatever.

. . . Eww.

That could be another name for a quickie, or something.

. . . IGNORE ME, KINDLY.

After I was squeaky clean - save the whole loss-of-innocence crap - I grabbed my stuff and made my way down the long corridors back to my room. The halls didn't look so grey. There was sunshine seeping through. It made it look golden.

Kind of.

. . . Well, sor-RY for trying to be the optimist of a gloomy place then?

As I past the shower, I frowned when I still heard the water running. I stopped, and curiosity got the better with me.

Um . . . was she okay?

I carefully pressed the doorknob open again. 'Dani, don't tell me you're throwing up in the shower. We don't have a plunger.'

. . . Erm. No reply.

I rolled my eyes. Okay, I know it's perfectly gross to, you know, open the shower to someone, but she might have passed out or something.

'Dani? Are you - '

Then I dropped my stuff, and screamed like hell.

No wonder she hadn't answered me.

_The first thing about corpses is that they're generally silent._


	24. Post Mortem

**Lolly: This chapter is shorter than usual, (32 pages) as opposed to our last one which was like, 63 pages. It's late, on a school night . . . and the tone of this chapter is very _numb_. There's not going to be elaborate descriptions of how horrible it all is. There's only really shock, I guess.**

**Hehe. Hiya Nicole. Updating for you here. Otherwise, I would have probably waited till tomorrow. **

**Love Lolly and Hayley.**

- 8 -

My piercing scream was silenced by the realization that Britain's top super-model Danielle Moore, who I more or less hated, was dead.

_Dead_.

I stared at her with sheer horror because not only was she naked, but her body was sprawled on the floor of the shower, thrown messily in the corner. Her once fierce hazel eyes stared blankly at her feet. Some of her wet hair stuck to her face.

With haste, I turned the shower off. By then, the water was cold . . . cold as ice. Some of it stung my arm as I reached to shut the water off. Instinctively, I went to grab the closest towel, and threw it over her.

I can't- how did this happen? The thought that she was really, truly dead seemed so inconceivable. I _had_ to be imagining things.

Her body didn't stir from underneath the towel. No sounds came, either. Everything was just still and silent and . . . dead.

I wanted to call someone, but I couldn't find my voice. Every warm feeling I had felt earlier fled and was replaced with an unbearable coldness that took over my entire body.

I don't get it. What the hell happened? Not knowing made me dizzy, not from happiness like I had been earlier, but from a newly developed sense of paranoia that gripped my heart strings and tugged them with a pull so hard that it became difficult to breathe.

I lifted one end of the towel just to check that Dani was, in fact, dead. I guess it was a little hard for me to comprehend. She was alive just last night, yelling and being bitchy as usual. Her normally tanned skin was paling, turning a slight bluish color. She may have had a lot to say last night but . . . but now she was dead. And not saying much.

Oh God. It was real. Her lips, which were opened slightly, were kind of blue now. And those eyes haunting amber eyes just stared blankly, cutting me. And where they cut, a terrible flood of fear came pouring in.

I dropped the towel again, and another loud cry escaped from my mouth. I turned my whole body away from Dani's lifeless form. I had to keep myself from getting sick. I already felt really dizzy, which was not doing my stomach any favors. If I didn't, I would have barfed or something.

Within seconds, Paul materialized into the bathroom in an urgent red shimmer. He looked around the room with his eyes narrowed, until they fell on me.

'Where are they?' he demanded.

He was obviously under the impression that I was under another attack by the infamous Misforts. When he saw that this was not the case, he stepped closer to me and lifted my chin with a single fingertip.

I wished he didn't do that. I couldn't stand to allow myself to feel what he made me feel right then because, well, his ex-girlfriend was laying, dead, under a towel. But he had no idea. Part of me wished he didn't have to know. But its pretty hard to hide a thing like _that_ from someone.

'Suze?' he asked the confusion highly apparent on his face, 'why did you scream?'

Silence was my only response. I couldn't find it in myself to answer Paul directly. It was something you had to see to believe. And even after seeing her body, I still couldn't believe she was truly gone. Instead, I pointed a quivering finger towards the shower.

Paul frowned in befuddlement and went over to the shower. Once he peeked in, the frown was wiped off his face and the rest of his body went completely rigid. He turned back to face me, and all I could see in his icy blues was complete horror. The rest of his face, however, was deadpan. And I think he went just about as pale as Dani.

He returned to the body and plucked the towel off. Dani's eyes remained unresponsive and still. He went to his knees and placed two fingers on Dani's neck, feeling for her pulse.

I felt so, so, so sick . . .

Paul was touching it. _A dead body._

'No pulse,' he said. 'Her skin's gone blue and she's stiff . . . she's so stiff. It's – uh - rigor mortis. She's . . . _cold_ . . . It - it had to have happened hours ago.'

_It._

Another _it_.

But I doubt that Paul's "it" this time had nothing to do with his, um, urge to . . . do sexy things with certain people.

His observations were quiet, as if he was mumbling to himself, and they seemed so absent. Even though he was in the same room, his voice seemed a million miles from me. All of this was so, so unreal.

A set of chills ran down my spine when he said it took place hours ago. Hours ago, the world was just a happy blur to me. Hours ago, I just so happened to be sharing a lot more than just a bed with Paul Slater. Paul was Dani's boyfriend . . .

Sure, their relationship was rocky at the time, but still. I made Paul cheat on her, and now she was _dead_.

I tried to steady myself on my own two feet. The guilt I felt was making me feel even sicker than I already felt seeing the body.

I tried not to look at Dani as I started to chew on my fingernails nervously. I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know what to say. The silence was so scary, filled with the horrible mystery and death. It needed to end, but it didn't.

Paul looked over his shoulder at me, and I could see he was thinking exactly what I was thinking in those bright eyes of his. I didn't want to be the first to bring it up, though, because it would bring a fresh flood of guilt on both our consciences.

Mine was already over-flowing, thank-you-very-much. So much so that it might come spewing from my mouth via projectile vomit. Gross.

The thought we shared, of course, was that Dani's death was most definitely not an accident.

I mean, I had _every_ reason to believe it was suicide.

The idea wasn't so farfetched. I studied psychology enough to know that she didn't think to highly of herself. And thanks to Jack's earlier observation, I knew that she was a miserable person. Paul was the only one who would commiserate with her. Why _wouldn't_ she kill herself when no one else was on her side?

And besides, with her bulimia, it was like she was trying to kill herself everyday. She starved herself . . . tortured her body as life tortured her. The only way to end it was to end her life.

Paul was just kneeling in the shower still, staring at her. I could only see the back of his head. It was still messy. He was only dressed in a pair of pants and a loose cotton singlet. Normally that sight would have made me feel all uncomfortable and slightly hot. After sleeping with him, it would have made me feel giddy and attracted.

Now, I didn't feel anything. I was far too aghast.

His knees were getting wet from the water on the shower floor. He wasn't saying anything. Just kneeling in front of her. He'd pulled the towel down only just enough so that her face and neck was showing.

Oh God, her eyes . . . they just . . . stared. Blank, dead, empty, _hopeless . . . _

Paul wasn't moving. Like, at all. She just sat there staring, her eyes expressionless, and yet they said everything they needed to say. They told a story of someone that was tortured inwardly, someone who suffered a great amount of psychological pain. It showed true affliction of the worst variety.

All of that released a disturbance in the atmosphere. One of terror and demise. It was almost unbearable.

'Shit,' Paul mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. His voice was barely audible, but since the room was booming with silence, I could hear him.

'Paul,' I said in what had started off as a gentle voice, but ended up as a wispy, breathy gasp. I hugged my arms into me as I continued to nibble at my nails.

_Dani was dead, Dani was dead, Dani was dead, Dani was dead, Dani was dead . . . shit . . . she was – she killed herself . . . while Paul and I were – _

He ignored me. No, I don't think so actually. I think he didn't hear me. Or, you know, register that someone was speaking to him.

That beautiful feeling of warmth that I'd been basking in before?

Um, that was long gone.

Now it was replaced with a seemingly irrevocable coldness that clung onto every inch of my skin like the tiniest icicles, until they crusted up enough to form a complete sheet of ice that coated me wholly. Coldness isn't something that someone can just experience physically.

It can occur anywhere . . . heart, mind . . . _soul_ . . .

And at that point in time, I was frigid with numbed horror. I had given her a towel. I'd given Dani a towel. She was cold, though. And rigid.

And very, very dead.

Is it possible to be only a bit dead? I mean . . . you're either dead or not.

But I guess that sometimes it's hard to tell whether someone's dead or not. You walk in on an old lady in front of her roaring TV, calling out her name and meriting no reply . . . you face her and her eyes are shut. You feel her neck, and find out she's dead.

With Dani . . . you just knew by looking at her.

Dani's eyes were still staring out coldly at nothing. She held no one's gaze. Her eyes were no longer seeing. The sudden pallor of her skin was hauntingly grey. It was tinged with other colours. Her fingers, which curled from beneath the towel, were clawed.

But her eyes . . .

I looked away sharply.

'Paul,' I said, feeling so sick, 'Paul, stop it.'

Again, he didn't regard me in anyway. He just continued to look down at her. He could have at least covered her up, but he didn't. The whole sight was grossing me out, more than ever. 'Paul, please – '

'She's dead, Suze.'

'I _know_,' I stressed. 'Come on, get away from h – don't touch her – '

Paul, who'd lifted a shaking hand to her face again, pulled away like she was protected by a laser field. He stood up, almost slipping in the water. His bare feet had come in contact with _her_ water.

The water that a dead body was sitting in.

_God – Suze, DON'T throw up – _

'What do we d – ' I broke off. Neither of us could look at each other. Our eyes only met various things around the bathroom.

Anything but each other.

And the body.

There was a void in Paul's face. His eyes closed off his thoughts from the world. They were dark, cold, empty. But at least _his _eyes saw. Unlike a certain pair that were no longer functioning.

The barrenness on Paul's face made me so desperately want to hear, know, and feel what he was thinking.

It was while I was numbly trying to get inside his mind that a horrid, horrid thought occurred to me.

_Us_.

. . . _Dani probably killed herself because of us._

_Me and Paul, _I mean.

And with that, a violent gasp burbled from my mouth as the full impact of Dani's probably _suicide_ hit me hard.

_WE DID THIS!_

'Oh my _God_ – ' I started, as aggressive tears started trailing fast and coldly to spill from my eyes, and as my knees were about to click out of place, when Paul grabbed me around the waist, having caught my stray thought.

He stopped me from falling. 'Suze, _no_,' he growled. '_No_. I know what you're – this had NOTHING to do with us – '

'What if she – '

'_No_.'

There was warmth in his hold, but it did not touch me on the level that I needed warmth the most. Suddenly, I was in a dark, cold realm of icy guilt.

She did it because Paul and me _did it_.

'Oh God – '

Then, the door creaked open a little, and a groggy-eyed CeeCee stepped in. 'Er, is everything okay?' she asked nervously. She was not at an angle yet to that she was in view of Dan – the body.

It must have been a pretty weird sight though, what WAS in her view. Paul holding me like I was going to collapse, and all. You know, when last time CeeCee saw, his girlfriend had just blabbed about my ever-so-lovely abuser, and she had acquired this knowledge because Paul had told HER.

Neither Paul nor I could find the words to tell her what had actually happened. We did not want her to see before we broke it to her easily. But we couldn't talk.

At least I couldn't.

'Suze – ' Paul said, supporting me more. I was gone. I was shaking, and scared. I mean – I didn't even LIKE Dani, but – HELLO? _SUICIDE_ HERE? SCARY?

YEAH. SO SHUT UP.

CeeCee stepped into the bathroom, looking ultra concerned. 'Suze – are you – Paul, is she okay? I mean, what happened - ?'

'Don't – ' I pleaded. 'CeeCee, stay th – '

I couldn't see it. Paul was blocking it from my sight. I didn't want CeeCee to see it.

'CeeCee,' Paul said rustily, trying to make sure I wouldn't fall at the same time as talk to her, 'Dani – she's – something happened last night.'

Besides, you know, two members of the SIA unexpectedly doing the horizontal tango.

She saw Paul's sideways look at the shower, and she frowned. 'What – '

_No. No, no, no, NO! STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW-!_

Before we could stop her, she stepped forward, and looked in the shower. Her reaction was instantaneous. She screamed – one that echoed over and over again on the insides of my heart, and rattled my own fear – and fell back on her hands.

'WHAT HAPPENED?' she exploded.

. . . Yeah, um, CeeCee?

Not good in a crisis.

Paul worriedly let go of me. I just stood there uselessly, muttering under my breath. I didn't know what.

. . . Yeah, I've seen corpses before. It's not pretty. Like that time I saw Jesse's decaying corpse being dug out of my own backyard. Only, I hadn't known Jesse as person with a body. All I knew, basically, was his soul.

But this . . . this one had me. I mean, I hated Danielle Moore. But I KNEW her.

CeeCee knew her, too. Unfortunately, CeeCee didn't know of anything after death, except that it was unknown. To her, this whole thing was more shocking, more terrifying, than it ever could be for people like Paul and I.

People like what Dani used to be. No more . . .

And it was then when Jack came in.

'GET OUT!' we all yelled in distress.

He stood at the door, looking confused. 'Uh . . . I was just – I mean, no one's making breakfast, and – why's CeeCee on the floor?'

Fair question.

Here's another: Why's Dani dead in the shower, Jack?

He didn't know. None of us knew. I had an idea, but the idea was so horrifying and guilty that I couldn't bear to think it.

I could hear the very thudding in my head. It was so _loud_. Blood was pounding throughout my body coldly.

CeeCee was now crying in distress in a heap on the floor. I couldn't let Jack see this, but it was kind of too late. 'Get him out of here!' I yelled at her.

Jack blinked; every bit the thirteen-year-old he was. 'What?' he asked, his curiosity sounding so . . . childlike to my ears, in grotesque contrast to the reality of this situation.

CeeCee, sobbing in panic, looked at me and Paul shakily. 'W-w-we'll go make br-breakfast,' she stuttered at Jack. Wow. That was convincing.

Jack stubbornly didn't move. 'What happened?' he asked with a frown. 'Why are you all acting weird?'

CeeCee looked into my eyes, again, and a sharp spasm of something terrifying shot between us.

There was a DEAD woman in the SHOWER.

'Jack, come on, th-there's nothing wr - '

But Jack just pushed past her. He saw where she was nervously looking. 'What's in the shower - '

'NO!' I yelled at him, blasting him back with SOMETHING -

But he'd seen.

Oh, shit, he'd seen.

I'd never actually heard a thirteen year old boy scream like that before. It was something that truly twisted the heart with a ruthlessness that one would expect from the coldest hearted killer. The second Jack saw her - it, he started fell back against the wall, courtesy of my shifterness, his face white and pasty and sick.

'IS THAT DANI?' he shrilled, 'WHAT HAPPENED? WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTHI - WHY IS SHE - SHE'S ALL WHITE - '

CeeCee started crying harder, trying to get him to stand up. 'Jack, please - '

Things. Important things. Were breaking.

And _dying_.

Jack wouldn't move. He, beyond my extent even, was gone. So deep in his shock that after that, he couldn't say anything else, just stare in horror.

Feel ya, Jack.

Again, I turned my head and looked at it.

What is it about it that made it impossible to look away? Her dead gaze was one that locked you mercilessly in a place of death, and pain.

Don't look at it -

Cee - stop crying – Jack, move along-

SOMEBODY DO _SOMETHING_.

It certainly wasn't going to do anything. The body, I mean. Except for stare. And, um, be dead.

Death, to a lot of people is so final. It never was for me because, well, I see the dead after they've bit the big one. They'd continue to bug me until I did something about it. Exorcism, taking them to Shadowland, breaking into their relatives' house and taking care of THEIR business there . . . whatever it took. But now, it was final. Dani had bugged me enough when she was alive, and I had a feeling she wasn't coming back. Ever.

And yet, it didn't make me feel any better because now there wasn't anything for me to do. What was done was done. I felt helpless again. Helpless and now guilty.

Never a real morning person, a bleary-eyed and completely uninformed Adam stumbled in the bathroom and grumbled, 'What's with all the hubbub? Can't a man get a decent sleep around here?'

CeeCee immediately got to her feet, tears still streaming down her face, and pulled closed the shower curtain, hiding it from plain sight. She was trying so hard to protect Adam, the only one whose innocence remained intact. Because once you got a glimpse of what was beyond that curtain . . .

Well, everything you ever knew about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness was just _lost_. I knew right then and there that none of us would ever be the same. Not even Jack, the picture of everything that was still pure, was now tainted.

'Well, _good morning _to you all, too,' Adam tried to joke sarcastically. 'It's _so nice_ to see your bright cheery faces after arousing from my slumber in such a _pleasant manner_.'

'Adam, _leave_,' CeeCee warned hotly, her cheeks red and tear stained. I've never heard her use that tone with Adam before, ever. The whole situation just brought out the worst in everyone.

'God,' Adam said, all defensively, 'who died?'

Jack raised his blue eyes, which were now a dull-gray, to Adam and shook his head. I just stared past Paul at the shower curtain, which CeeCee blocked partially.

If only he knew . . .

After a second, my gaze snapped back to Paul. ' . . . What do we do?' I asked in a disgustingly inhuman voice.

Paul, who'd been previously staring into space with an unreadable expression, looked at me with a frown. 'What?'

'What do we do? I mean . . . we can't just leave it there.'

'Her.'

I looked at CeeCee. 'What do you mean?'

'Don't call her "it",' she said in a low voice.

Adam was grumpily looking in between the two of us. 'Uh . . . huh?'

'CeeCee,' I said in that same voice, 'Please - '

'Go from here,' Paul said suddenly to the four of us. 'Call de Silva, Suze. I'll . . . deal with her.'

WHAT? WHAT WAS HE GOING TO DO? HIDE THE EVIDENCE OR SOMETHING?

'What do you mean by - '

'I'm calling an ambulance,' he said in a strange voice. Just . . . it didn't sound normal. It was tight, sharp, and low. 'What did you think I meant?'

I shook my head, and shivered again. 'I'll stay,' I said after a moment.

'No,' he met my gaze with a definite streak of anger.

'Yes,' I replied determinedly, matching his look. I turned away, and called Jesse.

In a nanosecond, he was there, looking around with a light frown. 'Why all the sad faces?' he asked.

'Jesse,' I said, 'Take CeeCee, Adam and Jack out of here. Don't let them out of your sight.'

'Why?' he asked curiously.

How can you tell someone that someone committed suicide, and make it sound light? I burdened my eyes with messages that were sent directly to him.

He detected the seriousness of my intentions, and nodded slowly, briefly glancing at Paul behind me. 'We shall be in the kitchen,' he said slowly. Looking at Jack, (the only one whom he wasn't invisible to,) he said, 'Come on.'

God. It's a very tactful man who could ignore the tears in that thirteen year old's eyes in this circumstance.

Jesse and Jack led Adam and CeeCee away. CeeCee seemed almost glad to go, but Adam seemed to want to stick around to see what was going on. His slight hesitation caused CeeCee to dig her nails in his arm and drag him from the room.

My eyes followed them until they were gone from the room, and then they went straight back to Paul, who was now fumbling around for his cell phone. He dug it out of one of the pockets on his pants.

Geez, when does that guy _not_ carry his cell phone?

But instead of dialing straight away, he looked back at the curtain distractedly.

'Aren't you going to call them, Paul?' I asked.

'I thought I told you to go with them,' he replied, in a voice that really didn't sound like him. I mean, it truly wasn't the same confident-to-the-point-of-cockiness Paul Slater I knew.

'I thought I made it clear I wasn't,' I rejoined, folding my arms across my chest. I sounded more sure of myself than I really was. Especially since I knew now was not the time to be a smart-ass.

Being a smart-ass was more appealing, however, than to join the crowd of broken toys in the kitchen. That's what they became . . . broken. We all were. Even Paul, who always used to know what to do.

But now it seemed like he didn't even know how to use a cell phone.

He eventually began to dial, but he did so reluctantly. He gave me a look and then kind of turned around, for privacy. He accidentally turned facing the curtain, so he readjusted himself so he was facing me again, but he chose to look off somewhere distant.

'Hello? We have an emergency. I need you to send an ambulance here right away.'

Paul paused, listening to the operator on the other line.

'Actually, she's dead.'

More pausing.

'The cause of death? Well, we found her this morning in the shower. She's cold and pale and . . . I think it was suicide, sir.'

That was the first time Paul had said it. And when he said it, he looked at the shower with the saddest expression in the whole world. For once in his life, Paul Slater actually looked a little vulnerable. Even while he was handling the call with the same professionalism he tried to maintain, he still had the saddest expression on his face as he continued to stare at it.

'Danielle Moore,' he said after the operator had apparently asked a series of questions, 'She's twenty-three . . . Me? Oh, I'm her b- I was a good friend of hers. Could you please just send the paramedics right away?'

The paramedic on the other line said a whole bunch of stuff. This caused Paul to start pacing around a little in frustration.

'Please,' he interrupted the operator, 'Just send the damned ambulance over. We're at the old Fortunaschwein Boarding School for Boys, 1200 Ashburn Lane in Gilroy.'

Ashburn Lane. How appropriate. Considering the history of the school and its previously unsolved attic fire. Ashes burned them. The Misforts, I mean.

A slowly numbing sensation was trickling down my body, starting from my head and branching out across my limbs painfully. Soon, I only saw Paul's mouth moving as he talked into his phone. I couldn't hear him.

I'd never been this close to suicide before. I mean . . . I've dealt with the aftermath of it, e.g. Heather Chambers, but I'd never been there RIGHT after it had happened.

I'd never seen the body of someone who had chosen to end their life, having found nothing more to live for.

Till now.

'Suze.'

I blinked, and looked up at Paul, who I realized had hung up. The expression on his face was now one that seemed to show more emotion than perhaps I'd seen before.

'I'm so sorry,' I said in a whisper to him.

He tilted his head back and looked up at the roof, no reply.

I didn't even know how to look at him. I mean, what did he need from me? Sympathy? Solace? What? What could I offer him that would make that expression go away?

He just looked so scared. That's the first time I think I'd ever seen him like that. And you know what? It scared me.

'Paul,' I said after a second, a tearful quality coming into my tone, 'Don't think about what she said. You didn't make her do that.'

Even if he did . . . who KILLS themselves because of it?

Well . . . okay.

He turned to stare at me. I wasn't sure he was even seeing me. I felt strange - you know, to be the one trying to comfort him. It was usually the other way around.

Oh God . . . oh God, I couldn't believe how wrong everything was. The world as I knew it had not only broke, but had began to disintegrate into a hellish nothing.

Just when things had started to feel so right, the impact of death came and vandalized everything that had been good.

See how death just ruins life? Ugh.

Oh my God. What if . . . what if she did it because she'd heard? Me and Paul, I mean. Last night.

What if she heard, came into this bathroom, and just . . . killed herself?

'Paul,' I said suddenly.

His gave snapped so it was exclusively on me.

'Paul, how'd she do it?' I asked shakily.

He ran his hand through his hair, as if not knowing what to do with himself. 'What do you mean?'

I started getting excited. In a sick, terrified way. 'She couldn't have cut because there's no blood . . . and there wasn't like, a syringe in the shower or anything. So how'd she do it?'

Paul appeared even more appalled. 'Suze, not now.'

'I'm serious,' I said firmly. 'There's nothing to say that it wasn't an accident - '

'So she just died?' he drawled coldly.

His tone of voice made me fall silent. 'Is there a head wound?' I asked after a second.

'I'm sure as hell not checking,' he snapped. He turned away from me. 'Go, Suze.'

'No,' I sighed.

Facing the shower curtain, and knowing what exactly lay beyond, he whipped his head around to me furiously. 'GO.'

The anger in his voice was so painful. Hurt, I took a step back from him, and lowered my gaze.

_. . . Whore . . ._

Without a word, I left the bathroom. Once outside, I began to wonder if that had actually happened. If I'd, you know, actually walked in on a corpse in a running shower.

Was this just a nightmare? Had I fallen asleep while I was having MY shower? Would I wake up with the water running over me?

Had I even woken up at all? Was I still in bed with Paul Slater, in that room on the third floor?

What the HELL was real? And if it wasn't real, then why was it so terrifying?

I mean . . . nightmares can seem real, right? But they don't HAVE to be.

Although, judging from the fact that I was shaking, and my head was pounding and my hair felt very clean and stuff - details that dreams tend to miss - I had a horrible feeling that my reality was a very dark, very gloomy one.

Danielle Moore was dead.

And, like the butterfly effect, that one event would sent forth a chain reaction of darkness.

8 -

When the ambulance came, and carried the body out on a stretcher covered by a white sheet – easier said than done, because she wouldn't lie flat because of the rigor mortis thing, ewwwww . . . - Adam pretty much got the idea of what had happened to Miss Moore.

And for once, the clown had no jokes to crack.

Police also came. And several reporters. God . . . I swear, I wanted to kill them. Who can DO that? Come and hound someone for a story when someone's just DIED? That's - that's cruel. Even if it was the ever-famous Danielle Moore.

. . . Well, CeeCee did that for a living, so I guess I have to take that back to some extent.

I dunno. Does a journalist do that too?

Well, they were all OVER Paul. Especially the police. The took him outside, and "talked to him."

Jack demanded to know why. 'Do they think HE did something?' he asked hotly.

'No,' I said. 'Come on, Jack. You watch all the crime shows, right? It's procedure and stuff.'

'But CeeCee said that she wasn't killed,' Jack said defensively. 'That she did it herself. So how would Paul know about it?'

I groaned. Jack had become mighty inquisitive, not to mention spastically nervous, after this whole ordeal. 'I don't know.'

We were standing in the entrance room. You know, me, Cee, Adam, Jack, and Jesse. Wow. Some SIA. Ha. Two down, six to go.

Oh, God . . . it sounded so horrifying, to think of it as a countdown . . .

It was like a horror flick gone horribly wrong. You know, where people are killed off one by one until there's no one left? Only, this wasn't some made-up movie. This was the real deal.

The front door creaked opened. 'Suzan-nuh Simuhn? Couldya come out here please?'

I looked up, alarmed. A hick-sounding police officer raised his eyebrows at me seriously.

'Why?' I asked. I mean, what could a police officer possibly want with little ol' me?

'Yeah, why?' Jack demanded, getting even more stressed out. He seemed to get more edgy by the moment, and the slightest thing made him freak out.

'I jus' need tah ask ya a few questions, ma'am,' the officer replied in his heavy Southern drawl, looking at me over the rim of his dark sunglasses.

I nodded unquestioningly at the officer and he adjusted his belt over his beer gut and gruffed, 'Right this way, miss.'

'Suze, don't go,' Jack pleaded. The look his wide blue-eyes possessed mirrored the exact fear Paul had in his own earlier. Only, apparently, Jack actually _wanted_ me around. Paul didn't, as he made evident earlier with the whole GO AWAY thing.

'I'll be back, Jack. Hang tight,' I told him before the cop led me away. Jack didn't seem too happy about me leaving him. He mumbled something inaudible to himself and sat himself down on the bottom step of the stairwell. He stared at the floor and hugged his legs close to him in a manner that suggested that he was not only uncomfortable being there, but that his childhood, or what was left of it anyway, was now completely shattered.

I used to be quite familiar with law-enforcement when I was younger. I mean, all those times I got caught breaking and entering landed me in the back of cop cars a few times. I used to get questioned all the time. You'd think, by now, that I'd be used to it.

Only, since Paul had pointed out that I wasn't a mediator but a shifter and that I could get rid of ghosties without getting the local law sicced on me, I pretty much forgot how to handle them. I managed to avoid trouble for so long. Especially since, you know, I wasn't a minor anymore and I didn't want to get arrested. Juvvy Hall? I could handle that. Jail? Not so much. I mean, not only were there really creepy people there, but the orange jumpsuits? I'd don a nun's habit before I'd wear one of those hideous things.

Once we stopped, the policeman adjusted his belt again. I don't know why he couldn't get a decent-fitting belt, but apparently this one was too small to fit over his rather pot-bellied middle. Instead, he kept it a little loose, so it ended up sliding down to his hips, where he'd just have to re-adjust again.

I guess that's what a dozen Krispy-Kremes will do to you.

He looked at me real solemnly over the rim of his sunglasses. 'It's a damn shame what happened last night to yer friend,' he said, trying to console me.

'Er, yeah.'

I guess it was a good thing I didn't mention that Dani wasn't really what you'd call a good friend of mine. I mean, I couldn't keep my eyes off of that gun the policeman had attatched to his mis-fitted belt. So what if that made me a little paranoid?

'Well, protocol states I gotta ask this,' the cop said, this time taking off his glasses, revealing a set of squinty brown eyes, 'so here goes: do you recall anything last night? Maybe somethin' that could point us in the direction of what really happened here?'

Wow, that gun's kind of big.

'Any . . . strange noises, maybe?'

I betcha those bullets are kind of big, too. And pointy and metallic and stuff.

'Was she behavin' any differntly when ya last spoke to 'er?'

It's probably really noisy when it goes off. BOOM.

'Miss, are ya listenin' to me?'

'Sorry,' I apologized. 'It's just . . . I didn't hear anything. I mean, I never expected anything like _this _would happen. I don't even know what _this_ is. I don't know what happened, quite honestly.'

'That's what I'm tryin' ta find out, ma'am,' the cop said, a little less patiently than before. The gleam caught on his gun as he adjusted his belt again. 'That's what I'm here ta find out.'

I looked away for a moment at Paul, who was off being questioned like I was. Only, he didn't seem to handle it as well as he usually would. None of his "Are you aware that Miss Simon is a minor?" coolness, or anything. He was sort of distractedly listening to the officer while looking off somewhere. I followed where his eyes landed.

The body bag. Go figure.

I heaved a shudder and looked back to the officer. 'Have they concluded anything yet? About how she did it, I mean?'

'The scene was relatively clean,' the officer said, 'and by clean, I mean they was no sign of what the cause-a death was. No foul play or nothin'.'

'You think it was a suicide,' I said flatly.

'It's hard to tell, but it could have been an overdose.'

'On drugs?' I asked, a little shocked. 'You think she was on crack or something? I never thought that she would ever-'

'Not crack,' he interrupted, placing a hand on my shoulder.

'Diet pills. I mean, you can have a reaction to those, right? Oh, heroine? Ecstasy? Weed. Probably weed, although I thought she'd always pass on grass-'

'Codeine,' he gruffed, testily.

That had me floored. It never occurred to me that Dani could have OD-ed on something. Painkillers? It opened my eyes, and suddenly I saw Danielle Moore in a completely different light.

'D-do you think it was intentional?' I asked after a while, trying not to fall over. Or barf, for that matter.

'I dunno,' the officer said, putting back on his glasses. 'I wasn't there.'

Oh yeah.

Neither was her boyfriend. He was too busy _fucking_ _me_.

Another lurch of guilt made me feel really, really sick. I took a deep breath, and again looked over at Paul.

He was looking over at me, just . . . staring.

I blinked, and looked away.

I guess I knew what he was thinking. And it wasn't a very good thought.

Ha. Regrets, right Paul?

We caused this, didn't we?

One night . . . one night when something seemed kind of right in my life, it just turned out to be the wrongest thing I could ever do.

With a huge breath, I said to the police guy, 'That's all I know. Can I . . . I mean, I feel kind of sick . . . '

He nodded with slight sympathy. 'Righteo, miss. Jus' ya know, Danielle Moore'n all . . . she was one of 'em big sing'rs or sumfin' right?'

'Model,' I said absently.

Not that it mattered anymore because she was dead, but oh well.

'Hmm,' he said. 'People usually like t'know what happens ter the models 'n stuff. So what's you sayin' you was doin' here anyways?'

I sighed. 'That's confidential. Paul Slater's the only one who can answer that question, I'm sorry.'

I hated to put it all back on Paul, but I really felt like I was going to fall over or something. And besides, he'd be the only one who could properly term our little "agency".

'Righteo,' he said again with a shrug. 'I'll be askin' him then. Miss, yer'd better . . . y'know, stay in town. Just till we know it's def'netly a suicide.'

I nodded numbly, and ran my hands through my hair.

'Of course,' I said.

With a curt nod, he too wandered over to Paul.

When I got back inside, I felt like I was going to fall. CeeCee and Adam were standing there, and looked up sharply when they saw me.

'Suze!' Jack yelled. 'What happened?'

'Nothing,' I wheezed, holding my head. 'I have a headache . . . '

'Why are you walking funny?' Jack asked. 'Did the ghosts hurt you again?'

I went a hideous shade of red. 'Uhhhh . . . yeah,' I said.

What? What ELSE was I going to say to him? Oh, I just spent last night in a most blissful state, getting horizontal with your brother. How 'bout that, little Jack?

But that was kind of a mistake. Everyone's face turned the same shade of red, only in anger instead of embarrassment.

'You're not serious,' Adam said angrily. 'What did they do to you?'

'I don't want to – '

CeeCee coughed, and gave Adam a glare. You know a stop-being-curious glare. He silenced himself. Thank GOD.

Jack was staring up at me. 'What's going to happen?'

I raised my eyebrows. 'I have no frigging idea, Jack,' I laughed humorlessly.

Cee gave me a weathered look. 'We'd better make some breakfast.'

'I don't think anyone's hungry,' I said dryly. 'Except Jack.'

'I'm not,' he said in a quiet voice.

. . . Wow. That's fricking first. Jack's metabolism was at lightning speed due to the whole growing-teenager thing. I'd never seen him turn down a meal before, unless it had vegetables in it.

'We'll make some anyway,' CeeCee said with firmness. 'Come on, Suze.'

The walk to the kitchen was quiet. Once there, she started putting toast in the toaster, and looked over to me. 'So what do the cops think?'

'About what?'

'What do _you_ think?' she asked in annoyance. 'About _Dani_.'

Again, I swept my hair off of my face, and tried to breathe calmly. In, and out . . . come on Suze.

'They think you or Paul killed her or something?' she asked after a moment of silence.

I gave her an empty look. She wasn't KILLED. Well, at least not by anyone but herself. 'No,' I whispered. I busied myself by taking some eggs out of the refrigerator.

'Do you have an alibi? And what about Paul? I mean, he must have heard her get out of bed to go and do it. They – '

'She wasn't in the same bed as him,' I said quickly.

CeeCee stopped.

'Oh my God,' she said after a second. 'Oh my GOD, Suze, you didn't!'

Panicky, I looked at her. 'DIDN'T WHAT?'

Her eyes were wide with a terrified excitement. 'You – you and – him – I can't _believe_ – but I thought you – '

I had two eggs in my hand, and was bringing them over to the skillet, when her accusation caused me to accidentally send one crashing to the ground in an almighty SPLAT.

'What are you _talking_ about?' I asked hurriedly, resting the rest of the eggs on the counter as I tried to wipe up the fallen egg. There were pieces of shell and gooey yolk everywhere.

God, this was a mess. My life was a mess. And my stupid lies were becoming all too hard to balance.

She totally knew . . . oh, shit.

'That's one hell of an alibi.'

'What is?' I played dumb. I threw away the paper towel I used to clean up and washed my hands, trying not to look at her.

'You – ' she stopped, and looked around. 'Is Jesse here?'

'No,' I said. 'Look . . . okay, we – it wasn't meant to happen, it just – you can't say a _word_ to – '

She shook her head. 'I won't, unless it's to the cops,' she said. 'Oh, God, Suze. I can't believe – PAUL of ALL people – '

'Stop it,' I hissed. 'It's making me feel sicker. I need a Tylenol or something, I feel like crap – '

' "Suze, why are you walking funny?" ' CeeCee quoted from Jack, and giggled nervously.

'Look, SHUT UP,' I snapped at her. 'Someone just DIED. How can you – '

She kept giggling and giggling despite my constant protest for her to stop.

I mean, I did not like Dani. She was such a bitch to me. Just yesterday, I believe, she called me fat. She told me I wasn't "dream date material". And in the end, I end up screwing her boyfriend.

But I was not laughing. This wasn't some high school plot for ultimate revenge. This was something way more serious because someone was DEAD.

Probably because it was partly my fault, but still.

CeeCee shoved her hand over her mouth, still giggling. What the HELL was wrong with –

Then she just stopped. And started breathing hard.

'CeeCee?' I said slowly.

Her breathing started getting heavier and heavier, until she was actually hyperventilating. Oh my God.

Quickly, I grabbed a sealer bag out of the cubbard and opened it. 'Breathe into that,' I said quickly. 'Come on – '

She did, and she choked. That's when she started crying really, really hard.

Then I knew.

She wasn't laughing because it had been funny.

. . . She was so scared that she didn't realize what was actually happening. I think I just reminded her.

The toast was burnt.

I took it out of the toaster and threw it in the garbage. Breakfast was pretty much ruined.

'I . . . guess breakfast wasn't . . . such a good idea after all,' CeeCee sobbed.

'Come with me,' I said, grabbing her arm as she was breathing in and out of the bag, 'Get some outside air.'

We slowly walked back to the front room. Adam, who hadn't moved a centimeter from when we'd left him, snapped out of his gaze. 'What happened?' he demanded in alarm, following.

CeeCee started crying harder. She was having a panic attack. God, it was heart breaking.

'Nothing,' I said, and kicked the front door open. There, she stood outside, and continued breathing, till finally she started slowing down, looking petrified.

Adam, crushed, pulled her into a tight hug, and started shushing her.

'What happened?' he repeated, obviously believing that I was the cause of her hysteria.

'Nothing,' I stressed.

I just reminded her of what a screwed up world we woke up to.

'Are you sure?' Adam asked, his voice taking on a strange tone of frustration. 'I mean, look at her. She's freaking _hysterical_. What happened?'

'_Nothing_, dammit!' I screamed, sitting down furiously.

Paul once pointed out to me, in one of my weaker moments, that when I said something was nothing, I really meant it was something.

Well, I guess he was right. Again. Why does he always have to be right when I want him to be wrong?

Adam narrowed his eyes. If he weren't so angry-looking he probably would have made a crack like "I'm onto you, Simon" or something. But he didn't because, well, his fiancée was too busy crying into his lap while the cops surrounded the area, trying to find out how one of our co-workers ended up dead.

This was, like, an alternate reality. None of this could possibly be happening. It's, like, something that would happen on a crazy soap-opera. The powers that be wanted to oust off a character, that's all.

And they did a GRAND job of it, dontcha think?

I overheard the police telling Paul to that they'd question him again, pending autopsy report.

Autopsy . . .

Eww . . . they were going to cut her up . . . eww . . .

And then, they left, saying that they had all crime-scene information that they needed. One of the police guys said something about calling in people from "The City," because Danielle Moore was such important personnel and they needed the BEST team they could to determine her cause of death.

It was SUICIDE. God, isn't it OBVIOUS?

Jack, who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs now, was just staring out at all of us. His eyes looked blank, and older than thirteen.

Paul looked at him expressionlessly, and then at me.

And then Adam, who was still trying to calm CeeCee down, spoke up angrily. 'Suze . . . we quit.'

I turned to them. 'What?'

Adam's hands were shaking as they smoothed up and down CeeCee's arms soothingly. 'We can't do this, Suze . . . not anymore. Not with what – '

'No,' I said, 'No, you can't – '

'You're right,' Paul said to Adam in a low, quiet voice. 'You two have done more than expected. CeeCee, your research has been crucial, and – ' he stopped, and closed his eyes. 'Take Jack and go back to Carmel.'

'No!' Jack protested. 'I don't – '

CeeCee caught her breath in a shuddering sob. 'I'm staying,' she said, looking apologetically up at Adam. 'I – there's stuff that I haven't figured out y – '

'CeeCee,' Adam cut in, sounding ever so slightly on the point of hysteria, 'We're not like them. We don't see what they do – '

'That has nothing to do with what happened,' CeeCee said in a loud voice. 'Dani ki – ' a sudden, silent holding of breath traveled around the room. CeeCee changed her train of speech, 'we need to still get rid of the Misfortunates.'

'We can manage without you,' Paul said to her in a gently voice. 'It's okay if you don't want t – '

CeeCee stood up, and looked him in the eye, like the businesswoman she was. 'We're fine.'

Adam, scandalized, said nothing.

'Fine,' Paul said stiffly. 'I'll take Jack back myself.'

'I'm not leaving!' Jack snapped.

Paul rounded on him, and for the first time that morning, I saw the blatant flash of anger that gave me chills. 'This is NO PLACE for a thirteen year old!'

Jack flinched. 'I don't care.'

'Well I DO,' Paul yelled.

We were all situated in different spots around the hall. Only Adam and CeeCee stood together. Jesse, who was in the corner, was choosing to remain unbearably silent. He had not been told of what had happened to Dani. He had had to figure it out for himself from what the police officers had been saying.

His face was one so grim that I couldn't look at him.

I licked my lips, swallowed, and for a split second, remembered the toast that CeeCee and I had been cooking.

. . . Who cared if it burned? If anyone wanted breakfast, they could get it themselves . . .

8 -

Only Jack and Adam had succumbed to the terrors of their hunger. CeeCee, Paul and I had gone without food. We didn't want anything to eat. God knew we'd just puke it back up anyway.

I was in my room. For the second time in the duration of my stay at Fortunaschwein, various items of my underwear were spread across my bed. A dirty trick of Robin, Nathan and Charles, no doubt.

My fingers occasionally shook a little whenever I went to put something away. My mind felt like it wasn't transmitting proper thought, and the messages that were being sent to my body in order to act, were not reaching their destinations.

Things were so horribly wrong . . .

What had happened the night before seemed like something that was too far away to matter. Which was saying something. I mean, I hadn't ever done . . . STUFF, with anyone before. So it was a huge thing for me.

But now, Dani's death was obscuring any feelings that I might have had on the unexpected loss of my, um, virtue.

With all my clothes back in right, I sat down on my bed, and stared at the dumbwaiter across the room, and at what should have been the chandelier above me. But it had been broken.

Then I stared at the shards of a broken vase that lay on the dresser, from that night went the Misforts made me see all those horrible things.

Burnt flowers.

I was still staring when Paul came through my door.

He didn't knock. I mean, I could have been changing or something. But I guess he didn't think he had to anymore. After all, he'd seen pretty much everything of me last night, right?

. . . So long away.

I blinked, and looked up at him vacuously. He came and sat next to me on my bed, staring ahead also.

He wasn't close enough to be touching me, but just close enough to provide a source of body heat, something which I was lacking. I was freezing.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

I scratched the side of my face vaguely. 'Are _you_?'

'Ha,' he said with a humourless laugh. 'Not particularly.'

His hand slid over mine on my thigh, and his fingers pressed into my skin soothingly. He didn't say anything. Just held me hand like that.

I guess that was more comforting than anything that we could have said. God knows what the topic would be.

. . . It definitely wasn't going to be about our favourite Simpsons episodes or something.

A few moments after that, however, he removed his hand from mine, and lifted it up to my face, where he brushed rebel lock of hair behind my ear, and proceeded to skim oh-so-lightly over the skin of my neck, and resting on my opposite shoulder, where he gently pulled me towards him so I gently rested my head against his chest a little.

I guess he was like me, then . . . he just needed to feel that something was still real, in opposition to what was all of a sudden, happening.

This was to make sure that last night had happened.

. . . It had.

We both needed that closure.

I closed my eyes, and breathed out. 'What do we do now?'

I guess I shouldn't have said anything. I'd broken a silence that needed to remain for a longer period of time. And anyway, my question could have referred to "we" as anyone. The SIA . . . the human race . . . me and him . . .

I was asking about the SIA, then. But he didn't know that.

He didn't answer, for a second. His hand was still on my shoulder. I could feel it through the fabric of my top. Why was it, even now in the midst of death, Paul Slater's hands were still so warm?

. . . God only knows.

'The SIA, I mean,' I added.

'Hmm,' he murmured. 'Well . . . we still have a job to do.'

'Can't we just use exorcism?' I asked. 'It's efficient, and they don't even _deserve_ the time and effort of us finding out why they are hanging ar – '

'No,' Paul said. 'We need to do it properly.'

We DID do it properly.

. . . Oh yeah. Oops, wrong "it."

The desperately needed silence set in again. It was then, that I realized . . . last night was all I had.

All _we_ had.

I was scared of that. I was scared of what this would do to what we had. I was scared that after this, we just wouldn't have anything anymore.

I was scared.

Again, I shattered the quiet.

'It all went so _wrong_,' I breathed.

'I know,' he replied softly into my hair. His hand ran up and down my arm. Then, he stopped for a second, and tilted my head up to his, staring into my eyes, the ones he claimed to like so much.

His were shrouded with a dark shock.

He blinked twice. I saw again how long his eyelashes were.

He was just breathing. He didn't say anything. His lips were parted as if he _wanted_ to, but I don't think that he had the courage to speak. I mean . . . what was there to say?

I smoothed my hand over his face, and he leant down and kissed me very briefly, before pulling away, and running his hands through his hair, staring at the dumbwaiter opposite again.

The evanescent sensation lingered on my mouth in a sweet way; a way that felt grotesquely out of place in light of everything that was happening. A dark shadow seemed to be choking everything.

Death does that, sometimes.

'Why did you stop?' I asked in a tiny voice.

He turned to look at me. This time, his face was a perfect picture of guilt. Raw, and horrible. It startled me to see. It was like seeing Dani's corpse all over again.

Guilt.

Ha. God. I'm such a fool. Just this morning, I was saying how guilty I felt about my lack of guilt.

Look at Paul and I now, huh?

It was disgusting, cruel irony.

'We shouldn't,' he told me. 'Not n – '

Alternately, he broke off by pushing me on my back, kissing me.

_. . . Just needing to feel . . . _

Anything to keep hold of the reality that existed before this one.

His kiss was one of unspoken desperation, akin to nothing I'd experienced before. I had never been kissed subsequent to a suicide. So I guess he had motive.

To kiss me like that. Not . . . you know, to commit suicide or anything.

He was pressing me down against the bed, his both hands on my back, arching me against him unknowingly. My own were curled gently around his neck. Warmth was trickling back into me. With it, though, came awareness, one that I was trying so hard to ignore.

Again, he stopped, and looked down at me.

More and more guilt rained down on me from his eyes.

God. Danielle Moore had killed herself recently, and I was STILL indulging in her boyfriend.

I am heartless . . . I am so damn heartless . . .

Breathing harder this time, Paul lowered his head again, but this time not to kiss me. He put his face beside my own. I felt the skin of his cheek on mine. He hadn't shaved, still. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, just . . . strange.

I breathed out gustily, my breathing patterns also erratic and uneven. 'You're right,' I said, 'We shouldn't do this . . . not now.'

'I know,' Paul said quickly against my neck. 'I know. We have to – '

Only, whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a, 'S-Susie . . . ?'

I stiffened, and Paul rolled off of me like lightning, looking up at Bart Ford who was standing there, looking – quite plainly – absolutely _terrified_.

I coughed, and tugged my top – which had hiked up a little, courtesy of Paul – back down. 'What, Bart?'

There IS a God. A second longer, and I didn't know what we would have done.

You know, defying stuff in the we-shouldn't-do-this-now category.

I didn't look at Paul.

Bart opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

'What?' I prompted him more.

Bart looked around fearfully. 'Susie . . . you – ' he swallowed. 'You need to get out of here.'

I shook my head. 'You know we can't.'

'No, you don't understand,' he took a step forward, ignoring Paul completely. 'You can't stay here anymore. You have to go. You _have_ to.'

I closed my eyes, praying for patience. 'Bart, look. I don't care about Robin's little fire tricks. We can handle it. What happened with Dani is just . . . going to distract us for a little bit. But we have a job to do – '

'_No_,' Bart said, starting to get defensive and even _angry_. 'You HAVE to GO – '

'Look,' Paul spoke up, pissed off. 'We're not leaving until – '

'They'll do it again!' Bart's eyes went very wide.

'. . . Do what?' I asked. 'Who?'

'What they _did to her_,' Bart whispered, 'They'll do it to you too, Susie. They've done it once now . . . next time, they won't even hesitate with you – '

A whole other world came crashing down.

I started shivering again. No way. He – he wasn't serious –

'She killed herself,' I said firmly. 'She probably overdosed – '

Bart shook his head. In a blur, I turned and looked to see how Paul had taken this new information.

. . . He was rigid, and his eyes had gone from guilty, to deadly.

'No,' Bart said. 'They . . . she went to th – _after_ she heard – b-but didn't want to any more, and they – it got out of c-control. It was an accident at first but then they – with her medicine, they forced it down her thr – ' he looked around again, his eyes even wider, as if he were waiting to be punished by something so much bigger than him.

My eyes were still on Paul.

Oh my God, this was bad . . .

Dani didn't . . . it wasn't her. It wasn't SUICIDE.

It was murder.

Oh my God, oh my God, ohmyGod, OHMYG –

'So, you're saying,' Paul said, in a voice that didn't even sound HUMAN let alone like his own, 'Your buddies _killed_ one of our colleagues.'

'They're _not_ my – ' Bart began, but Paul was already storming out of my room, with three things now on his mind.

Revenge.

Violence.

And exorcism.


	25. Nightmares

**Sunshine: Nod. You have been acknowledged. Now deflate your head. **

**I'm sorry Hayley. Haha, being at home sick all day made me feel like farting out a thirty two page chapter. This hasn't been edited, except by the spelling-Nazi that is Sunshine. Thanks to her, Aina, and Nicole for reading as I wrote to them. And sorry to the, um, JFC and PFC. Little boy-bashing in this chappie.**

**Cough**

**Love Lolly.**

**(And Hayley, when she reads this and finds out I UPDATED WITHOUT HER KNOWING I EVEN _WROTE_ ANYTHING.) Squeak . . . Sorry, Hayles . . . **

**- 8 -**

I sped after Paul, in a state of vicious shock.

'Paul, WAIT,' I said, panicking. I mean . . . _murder_.

That was something way more diabolic than suicide. It was killing someone ELSE. Not yourself. 'Paul - '

He wasn't listening to me. He just kept walking. God, he was mad.

Um. _Mad_ is a gross understatement.

There was a cold, silent, furious rage in his eyes, and his fists were balled.

'Where are you going?' I asked, trying to stand in front of him, but he moved around me. 'Paul, PLEASE, just STOP for a second - '

'They KILLED her,' he snapped, walking on. 'And then they MADE it look like she did that to HERSELF!'

I seized his arm, and yanked him back. Then I shoved him against the wall, breathing hard. 'Keep your voice down, one,' I hissed. 'And two . . . what are you going to do about it? Kill _THEM_? They're already dead - '

Paul pushed me away. 'Don't try and stop me,' he warned me.

'Are you talking about exorcism?' I snapped. 'Wasn't it just the other day you were telling me how stupid I was to attempt one?'

'There are worse things than exorcism,' he replied coldly.

And continued walking.

I followed again. He'd reached the stairs. 'Paul, they'll kill you - '

He obviously didn't care. I could FEEL the anger that he was radiating. It was painful. I couldn't relate to it on a level that he was obviously experiencing, (I hadn't exactly been sharing a bed with Danielle Moore - our relationship was slightly less affectionate,) but I knew why he was that angry.

Murder.

He was climbing the stairs now. 'Paul,' I persisted, 'Would you SNAP OUT OF IT? They're - '

'Snap out of it?' he echoed in mad incredulity, whirling around to face me. 'Are you BLIND? Did you not SEE what they are capable of? You want me to SNAP OUT OF IT?'

I swallowed. He was so . . . so furious. Taking advantage of my stunned silence, he continued to climb the stairs, reaching the second floor by then.

Okay, I'm sorry, but I was suddenly terrified. He turned back around, and said, 'Don't you come. Don't you dare - '

'Don't you GO then!' I shouted at him.

What's WORSE than exorcism for a ghost?

Oh God, I shudder to think.

My hands were shaking. I didn't know why, but I felt like something bad was going to happen.

And seeing as I'd been pretty accurate that morning, what with Dani's body being found in the shower and me having the same feeling as I had then, well . . . yeah.

Woman's intuition, you might say.

Or a shifter's prophetic ability, whichever is less corny for you.

By the time he was on fourth floor, I was freaking out, major. 'Where are you GOING?' I demanded hotly.

'Attic,' he replied. Even I could hear the cold, deadly quiet undertones in his voice, that only meant one thing.

That it was payback time.

'Suze,' he turned around, 'I'm warning you . . . go.'

I looked a little past him at the dusty, dark, cold corridor.

The attic door was there. It was closed firmly.

Okay, okay, okay, SCARED NOW.

I mean, I did NOT want what happened to Dani to happen to Paul, okay? My reasons for this may have been a little selfish - you know, I'd just spent a night with this guy and I didn't exactly want him to DIE just yet - but whatever. That's completely beside the point.

So yeah, I ran ahead of him and stood stubbornly in front of the attic door, where we both knew the Misforts were haunting. 'Please,' I appealed one last time, my voice no longer TELLING him not to go in, but pleading with him. 'Come on, I know how you're feeling, but you can't - please, don't - '

He stood in front of me, his face deadpan, and white with rage still. 'Suze, move.'

'No,' I shook my head.

'I can make you move,' he said. 'Do you want that?'

I didn't reply. I just stared up at him.

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. 'Fine,' he said.

Very easily, he shoved me aside -

I fell painlessly to the dusty floorboards, and retaliated by glaring at him, FORCING him about ten feet away from the door, and slamming him against the wall.

I stood up again, clenching my hands together to stop them shaking so badly.

Paul shook off the excess of my power that was keeping him in position. He grinned, his eyes still alight with a cold, lethal fire. 'Impressive,' he said.

I moved in front of the attic door again. 'I don't care how long I have to keep doing that for,' I replied, 'I swear I'll - '

He came to stand over me again.

'Why don't you want me to go in?' he asked.

I closed my eyes in pained frustration. 'They'll kill you, I said that already - '

'You don't hate me anymore?' he cocked his head.

'That's changed now,' I said quietly. 'You know it has.'

'Ha,' he said, his voice laced with something else now. Disgust. 'So I stick you for one night and suddenly you love me?'

I looked up at him in complete horror. 'W-what?'

His eyes were indifferent. Nothing changed from when he first heard from Bart himself about the fate that Dani had truly suffered. 'Do you love me or something now, Suze?'

My breath caught in my throat. He made it sound so revolting, the way he said it. Like it was something that was really gross to him. Hell, I didn't even KNOW if I - I mean, you know, I - why did he say that?

I didn't know what to say. I mean, I didn't know in myself, what the answer truly was. But even if I DID say yes, right then - would that have made him look even MORE disgusted? More so than he already did?

I flattened myself against the attic door, appalled at what he'd just said. 'Uh - '

He laughed. 'Yeah, thought so. Now get out of here, I don't want you to see this.'

He crossed his arms, waiting for me to move.

But I knew that my eyes were getting very wet, all of a sudden. Everything was going so wrong . . . suddenly, I realized how little last night had meant to him. I realized that everything he'd said this morning had been a complete, utter, obscene lie.

I-WISH-I-COULD-HATE-YOU-SUZE-BUT-I-NEVER-COULD-HATE-YOU my freaking _ass_.

Although, before anything else could happen - before he could say anything else that would degrade me, or make me realize what a stupid, STUPID mistake I'd made with him, the door behind me opened, and hands enclosed around my shoulders tightly, yanking me back forcefully, and then slamming the door shut again right in front of my eyes. I screamed, and Paul yelled out something too.

And suddenly, I was in real big trouble.

Offending hands, of course, belonged to none other than Charlie and Nathan. As soon as they'd dragged me up the stairs, they threw me on the charred floor. It was even worse, now that they'd caused the OTHER fire the other day. First thing I did was inhale a whole wad of ash, which sent me coughing like mad.

Then, they started laughing.

I lifted my head, still coughing violently into my hand.

The three of them stood there, smirking widely. They looked alive with something . . . like, the adrenaline rush from their murder.

It was terrifying.

'SUZE,' Paul was yelling, trying to open the door, but Robin promptly sent like, almost every moveable item flying down the passageway of the stairs that lead to the door, and completely blocked it up. Paul's voice was muffled horribly.

The moment I went to stand up, I felt myself zooming through air, and landing hard against the wall behind me. I whimpered something pathetic.

Robin's dark eyes were burnt like lasers in my memory. I could feel the power that they knew they had. They'd never killed, before.

Now they had. And they'd got off on it.

. . . Oh, God . . .

'How considerate of you, Susie,' Robin drawled. 'You came right to us. Spared us the hunt.'

I looked at him fiercely. 'Don't you touch me - '

They found that funny. Well, I guess it was to them, seeing as they'd done a LOT of touching of Dani, last night.

_'Touching_ is the least of your worries,' he assured me. I sat back against the wall. They weren't making any movements towards me. Yet.

Just . . . uhhh . . . keep talking to them, Suze.

Paul was still shouting through the mass of obstacles now blocking his way. Well, he could go to hell, now . . . I couldn't believe he'd . . .

You're a damned idiot, Suze. You gave yourself to HIM.

My self misery, however, needed to be postponed.

'Wh - what did you DO to her?' I asked. I knew what they'd done, from the very brief explanation that Bart had provided. But they didn't know that he'd told us.

Obviously, they were trying to cover it up when they drugged her. But I guess that by now, they were too proud to deny what they'd achieved.

'Exactly what we're going to do to you now,' Charlie assured me.

A lurch so violent made me want to throw up anything and everything that was in my stomach.

KEEP TALKING.

'So - ' I blathered on, 'What? Why'd you do it? Why - '

Nathan laughed loudly, and looked at Robin, and then at me. 'We did it because YOU did it.'

My eyes were glued to him. 'What are you talking ab - '

'Don't you get it?' Robin smirked, stepping closer to me. I made a feeble effort to stand, but something intangible, invisible, and supernatural held me perfectly in place, 'We know what you did last night, Susie. You and the lawyer.'

'So what - ?'

'Well, obviously,' Charles shrugged, 'We were obliged to tell his girlfriend what he was up to. She was very hurt, wasn't she?'

Robin and Nathan nodded in an innocent way, as if they were guilty of NOTHING here.

'And well,' Robin picked up, 'She decided that if HE was getting some elsewhere, why couldn't she?'

'Wise decision,' Nathan said.

'Not really,' Charles sniggered. 'When you think about how she ended up - '

'She went to you for - THAT?' I exploded in horror. 'Oh my God - '

The three of them, I swear to GOD, they looked so - so ARROGANT about it. Like they were so PLEASED with their conquest over the life of a very sick woman.

'Well,' Nathan tossed his head. 'It was all going very well,' he paused to laugh to himself, ' . . . VERY well - '

' - When she decided she'd changed her mind,' Charles snapped bitterly. That was the first note of anger I'd heard from the three of them.

The first, destined to be followed by an inevitable sequence of anger.

'So we changed OUR minds about HER,' Robin said. For a moment, I saw just a flash of hesitance. Just a flash. Then, I realized, anything still good and human about him had disappeared.

These three boys were monsters, now. Demons. Their souls had nothing left that was kind.

The astral block was one that was so powerful, it was affecting my ability to THINK even. They had confidence that they didn't before. They knew that they were indeed, capable of killing the living. They'd done it. They weren't afraid of doing it again, now.

After all, what did they have to lose?

Or gain?

Nothing, anymore.

'You killed her,' I breathed. 'How?'

Nathan laughed smugly. 'You already know.'

I did.

'WHY though?' I demanded. 'She's not the one who wants . . . wanted you out of here. She didn't care about you. Why did you kill her?'

Then, I saw a split second of hesitation . . . regret, I could definitely categorize it as . . . in Nathan's eyes. As if he, too, were asking himself that question.

But he decided not to answer me, deeming it a waste of breath that he, as a ghost, didn't technically have to worry about anymore.

Breath, I mean.

Paul was no longer calling. Or if he wasn't, I couldn't hear him. Maybe he'd gone to get help.

Ha. Who the HELL could help me?

No one.

Especially not me. I couldn't help myself here. No way. I couldn't break through the block. It was too strong, now. It was like a physical oppression, or like . . .oxygen was running out, or something.

Basically, I was in a death chamber.

Death had occurred forty years ago.

Death had occurred last night.

And death would occur right now.

'So,' Robin blinked lazily, his arms still crossed with his shameful arrogance. 'You know everything now.'

'No - ' I struggled to find something - ANYTHING to still talk about. Anything that would prolong what was going to happen, what was making me shake like I was. 'I still want to know - uhhhh - '

'I want to ask YOU something,' Robin walked towards me lazily, and sank to his knees in front of me, so we were eye-level. 'Why is it, Susie Simon, that we can never manage to kill you?'

What are you supposed to say to THAT?

'Yeah,' agreed Nathan. 'We've tried . . . drowning you, burning you, choking you . . . '

'And yet, you're still here,' Charlie said in a flat tone. 'With Danielle, it only took thirty four tiny little tablets.'

I breathed in sharply.

'Maybe,' I said, 'In the grand scheme of things, I'm just not meant to die, haha - '

'Tripe,' Nathan said. 'We're going to correct this little issue now, aren't we, Robbie?'

'Yes, we are,' Robin replied with a coldness that tied cords around my heartstrings.

With that, Robin got to his feet again, and the other two came to stand beside him. Promptly, a strange, cold sensation washed over me, and I felt a horrible pressure in my head.

'What - ' I began, but with a sudden rush, I felt myself being lifted well off the ground.

And then being slammed back down against it.

Hard.

Yes, I screamed, okay? It freaking HURT. My back felt like it had broken.

They did it again. And I didn't know what to do. I couldn't use any power against them - their's was FAR too potent. Overwhelmingly so. When I hit the ground the third time, I was not propelled in the air again. They left me there for a moment, and just laughed.

The second I tried moving, Charlie sank his knee into my back, and twisted my arm behind me. I cried out.

'Was that fun?' he hissed. 'Did the rush get to you? Want another go?'

'You are SO going to hell,' I spat, the side of my face against the burnt floorboards. I coughed again as I breathed the ash in. It infected my lungs. My back hurt so badly.

WHERE WAS PAUL? God, LEAVE me why don't you!

Charlie spun me around so I was face-up, and smirked. Robin knelt on the other side of me.

And Nathan threw a pillow at me.

Wow. I got told. Whoa, I'm so back in my box now. Ex-CUSE ME.

Let's all THROW PILLOWS.

Why don't we just take pillows to WAR? That'll teach the opponents a THING OR TWO.

After the whole slamming-me-against-the-floor-repeatedly thing, the pillow was kinda lame.

However, that thought was changed when Robin smiled darkly, seized the pillow with both hands, and shoved it firmly against my face.

. . . Efficiently blocking off all of my air supply.

Everything went grey. I started blinking fast, and thrashing about FURIOUSLY, trying to get the pillow away from my face. I couldn't - I couldn't . . . breathe -

The harder I struggled, the more they forced me down, laughing, laughing, laughing all the way.

OH WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIDE IN A ONE-HORSE OPEN-SLEIGH.

I tried turning my head, but Robin had wrapped the pillow around my face entirely, causing this action to be utterly useless.

The ache started to leave me, and I stopped blinking and squirming so much . . .

But just to, you know, be traditional, who should come to the rescue but SOMEONE THAT WAS NOT ME?

Why was I SO incapable of freaking SAVING MYSELF?

Am I THAT much of a loser? My GOD.

All hands left me, and I went completely still in dizzy anticipation. Then, the pillow was yanked off of my face, and Jesse de Silva was sliding his arms behind my back, and my knees, and was lifting me up.

And I was coughing, coughing, coughing all the way.

Hey.

With an explosion of noise, the passageway suddenly became free, and I heard frantic footsteps come up the stairs, and then Paul was yelling stuff. I didn't really hear what. Sounded pretty panicky though.

Ha. Bet HE was feeling kinda sucky. Imagine, last thing he said to me? "Do you love me or something, Suze?" in that TOTALLY grossed out voice.

Hmph.

'Suze,' he smoothed his hands over my face.

'Slater, stay away from her,' Jesse said coldly, and Paul's hands weren't touching me.

'What the hell?' he demanded.

'You let this happen,' Jesse said in a tamed fury.

'Oh, FUCK off,' Paul yelled. I winced. God. Did he have to be so loud? It was like he was screeching right in my ear, or something.

I started getting feeling coming back into my body. Jesse held me closer, and began moving. 'Suze, what happened?' Paul asked hurriedly.

I didn't answer. Why the hell did he care? I was just a one night stand, after all. It didn't MEAN anything to him.

I sniffed loudly.

'Slater,' Jesse said threateningly, 'Leave - '

'NO,' Paul spat, 'You don't freaking OWN her - '

Well, neither do you.

'Would you both shut up?' I whined. I wanted to stand, and walk away from the PAIR of them, being all dramatic and sophisticated and sexy and everything, but you know . . . "stand" is such a strooooooong word . . .

'Susannah?' Jesse asked, 'Are you all right?'

'What does it LOOK like?' Paul snarled at him. 'Of COURSE she isn't - '

'Courtesy of you,' Jesse retorted snidely.

'Can you please just shut up?' I asked again. 'God, you're so loud . . . '

They both fell silent.

I wasn't coughing anymore - therefore, we were out of the attic.

Jesse's arms were holding me possessively. 'What did they do, Susannah?'

'They - they killed Dani,' I said, because he obviously didn't know.

Jesse sighed. _'Dios_ . . . Now she's hurt her head. I hope you're proud of yourself, Slater - '

'No,' Paul said angrily, 'They did. And they made it look like she did it herself.'

That shut Jesse up.

I took that opportunity to move my legs, and get out of his hold. Ugh. Cowboys. I held onto his shoulder as I stood up, waiting for the much needed oxygen to get to the rest of my body successfully. My back was hurting. And my head.

And, um . . . well, we won't go to the other region. But that wasn't the Misforts' fault, so much as Paul's.

Cough.

'See?' I said pointedly to Paul, 'I told you not to go - '

'I told you not to come!' he snapped back at me.

'You're as much of an idiot as I was the other day,' I scowled.

'They - they killed Danielle?' Jesse said in shock.

'Wow, Rico's slow on the uptake,' Paul said rudely.

GOD, I WAS GOING TO KICK BOTH OF THEIR ASSES IN A SECOND. When, you know, I regained proper function of my foot.

'Paul,' I said in frustration, holding my head, 'Get Adam to take Jack out of here. Get CeeCee to call Mr Head, to tell him what happened. Jesse, stay with everyone who still has a heartbeat - ' not referring to Danielle Moore, any longer, who recently lost that status.

'What about you?' Jesse asked.

'I'll take care of her,' Paul said quickly.

'No,' I said. 'I'm going to see Father Dom.'

I took a shaky step, and slipped. Four hands came around my waist immediately. God, I'm popular when I'm nearly-dead.

'Why?' Jesse asked.

I closed my eyes again, against my thumping headache. 'He'll know what to do . . . he always does . . .'

8 -

Well, even the best made plans don't go smoothly.

Not that mine was one of the best made plans, or anything. But yeah, Adam didn't want to leave CeeCee here on her own, despite Paul's request for him to take Jack back to Carmel, with Dr. Slaski. So I had to go to CeeCee, tell her to convince Adam that she'd be okay. I decided it would be best not to mention that the Misforts – well, three quarters of them – had just made another attempt on my life.

Minor detail.

She said she'd take Jack back herself, but I told her not to, because we needed her here for research. She was the only one who could really get hard information, and she knew it.

In the end, I ended up recruiting her to call Mr Head. We were in the library then, and she began talking softly into her phone. I went wandering the library, unnerved by the silence. It was like a plague. It felt like one . . .

After about three minutes, however, I heard sounds of outright indignation. I quickly ran back to CeeCee, who had her cell against her ear, her mouth open in furious astonishment. She stared at the phone in horror as she hung up, and looked at me.

'What?' I said quickly, sitting next to her.

'That – that – ' she shook her head, aghast. 'That _son of a bitch . . . _'

'What?' I said again, more urgently.

She kept shaking her head. Then, she looked at me with incensed eyes. 'He – I told him about Dani. I also told him about the other events that have been occurring at this school. You know, where me and Adam almost got – ' she broke off, furious. 'That – that _asshole_ was ANGRY that his damned GRAVEYARD got destroyed. He didn't say a WORD about the fact that Dani k – '

I narrowed my eyes. 'You're joking.'

'No,' she stuffed her phone irately into her pocket, and jammed her fist on the library desk. 'God, I swear, I could – ugh.'

'He'll burn in hell one day,' I agreed.

Like three other people I know of.

I ran my hands through my hair kind of shakily. I mean, I've never been a fan of human kindness. I've met my fair share of devil's advocates. But . . . how can someone be so _cold_? A woman DIED. And he was worried about his stupid CEMETERY being messed up?

I swear to God . . . ugh.

Why the hell does this fabulous God even create dickheads (pun not intended) like him?

'Suze,' CeeCee said softly. 'I've been meaning to talk to you.'

I looked up into Cee's violet eyes. She blinked gently, her gaze riveted on me.

'What about?' I asked.

Play dumb why don't you, Suze.

'About what Dani – what she said yesterday,' CeeCee said. 'That Cole guy.'

I laughed. 'Oh, him.'

'Was she telling the truth?' she asked, leaning closer to me, her voice dropping to a whisper. 'Is this guy really – '

'I don't want to talk about this,' I said tightly.

'But you need to,' CeeCee's eyes went severe. 'Suze, have you been to the police about him?'

I placed my hands in front of my mouth, and shrugged.

'Yes, or no?'

'No,' I muttered. 'Look, it doesn't matter, I think he's like, over me now,' I laughed timidly. 'Haha . . . '

'It's not funny, Suze,' she said.

'Ya think?'

She sighed. 'You're so stubborn, damn it.'

'Thanks.'

'It's not a good thing,' she snapped. 'I'm just trying to help – '

'Of course you are,' I said. 'Paul said he was trying to help, too. Then he went and blabbed to his girlfriend during pillow talk. And now you all know. I didn't WANT you to know, okay? It's my business, and my problem. And Paul thinks he's God's gift to losers, thinking he's some savior or something, helping the helpless, and he's really one of the ones that'll end up going to hell,' I said bitterly.

CeeCee blinked.

'Sorry,' I murmured, going to stand up, but her hand came over mine. 'What happened? I thought you two – '

'Yeah, well,' I sighed, showcasing my feigned indifference, 'It wasn't meant to happen. Obviously.'

She made me sit down again. 'Why, Suze?'

I sank back into the seat, and stared at my hands, feeling like nothing. I mean . . . here I was, feeling sorry for myself and my recent loss of virginity, when someone just DIED.

I'm just that selfish.

It was WRONG of me to be so self-absorbed and worried about ME when things had to be done about what happened to Dani. I mean, she's a jerk, but she deserves SOME retribution, right?

Even if it's just a little, tiny bit.

I laughed coldly. 'He just . . . said some things that hurt,' I said.

CeeCee still had her hand in mine, and was now running her thumb over the back of my hand sympathetically. 'Aww, Suze.'

I laughed again. I have no idea why . . . nothing was funny . . .

'Well, it's my own fault,' I said with self-disgust. 'I got caught up in a moment with him last night. It just happened. And I didn't even know what I was doing, I mean, I hadn't done it before – '

'But yesterday, you were telling me about all those guys you'd – ' CeeCee interrupted, but silenced herself when I gave her a deeply sorrowful look.

'I lied,' I said. 'I didn't . . . I mean, it's pretty pathetic, that, you know – I hadn't ever – I mean – '

'Of course it's not,' CeeCee shook her head. 'Suze, it's – it's _admirable_. You should have just told me. I wouldn't have held it against you or anything.'

I sniffed.

'God,' I said, biting my fingers. 'I'm not exactly admirable anymore, am I? I'm . . . I'm such an _idiot_ – '

And I started crying.

Hard.

Oh, spare me.

CeeCee instantly went into turbo-mother-hen mode, and was all with the 'No you're not' and 'It's okay' crap. When it really wasn't. I felt . . . disgusting.

And disgust_ed_.

'And – and – ' I blubbered on, 'I mean, I didn't think about it at the time b-but he said he'd just broken up with D-Dani and what if I was j-just – rebound or _something_?'

She totally wrapped her arms around me and patted on my back with her hand, jerking each and every one of my sobs. 'Aww, honey . . .'

I felt humiliated, and mortified, and ashamed, and really grossed out. I mean, God, what if it was because I . . . you know, wasn't good at it or something? Or maybe because I made such a fuss when . . . you know.

IT.

We were always having competitions. To see who was better than the other.

I'd well and truly lost. I'd been played, pretty much. And I think that that's the ultimate victory he could have EVER had over me.

You know, getting me in bed and making me think that he meant it.

I mean . . . I thought he DID. He'd been so sincere this morning. Before we found her – I mean, the body. I thought he'd meant everything he'd said to me, about being sorry, and about never hating me, and all that stuff about wanting me and stuff. I thought he meant it. He sounded like he did. And I was allowing myself to feel feelings that I usually NEVER allowed myself to feel.

And it was all for nothing.

And then we found Dani's corpse.

. . . And _THEN_, to chuck a cheery on the top of the sundae, I almost got _killed_ by DANI'S killers.

'Suze,' CeeCee went suddenly, sounding like she was hesitant to even ask, 'Did you both . . . erm . . . use – you know?'

I nodded quickly. 'Of course,' I said, wiping my nose on the back of my hand – eww . . . 'I mean, I'm not _that_ stupid.'

Strangely enough.

Kinda weird, though, how Paul randomly had one on him.

Erm, a contraceptive, I mean. Probably in preparation for the ever-horny Dani.

Heh. Protection before erection, after all, always the way to go. For about ten seconds, I was fine. Then I began sobbing uncontrollably again. I guess I was still in shock from Robin, Nathan and Charles, and you know . . . Dani's death.

'God, what did he SAY to you?' CeeCee demanded to know. Careful not to tell her the circumstance, I repeated his words. Needless to say, she got really, REALLY pissed off.

'I'm going to kill him,' she promised. 'I'm going to kill him for you, okay, Simon? We're going to amputate his penis, okay?'

Sobbing, I choked on a laugh. Then I started crying again. And revenge of the Turbo Mother Hen that was CeeCee Webb.

Golly . . . me, Paul and Jesse were the only ones that knew Dani's death wasn't suicide. I guess I had to tell her. Cee, I mean. There was no point her NOT knowing. Besides her maybe wanting to hightail it. If so, I didn't blame her in the least, anymore. I could still see the shock in her eyes that hadn't left since this morning, the moment she'd seen what was waiting, stone cold, in the shower.

I knew that that shock in her eyes was now going to get worse . . .

'CeeCee, you should know something . . . _don't _tell Jack . . .'

8 -

After I shattered CeeCee's world all over again, her, myself, Adam and Jack left for the hospital. We wanted to see how Father Dom was going, and tell him the bad news. Well, we didn't WANT to tell him the bad news, but . . . yeah.

When we turned up in his hospital room, he was fast asleep. Before I said that we'd come back later, Jack ran up to him and started waking him up.

Ugh. Kids.

Well, Father Dom was all smiles when he saw us. But he wasn't dumb.

'Susannah . . . what is the matter?'

So Adam went with Jack to go grab a coke from the vending machines, and me and CeeCee filled him in on what the Misforts – you know, the mean ones – did to Dani.

He wasn't all smiles after that.

In fact, he was pretty darn silent.

For a second or something, I thought he was going to have a freaking HEART ATTACK or something, with the look on his face.

'Oh, my,' he said after forever. 'Oh, goodness . . . why, Susannah? Why did she approach them for . . . those reasons? Were Paul and Danielle fighting at all, that you know of?'

CeeCee looked at me sharply, then she was all, 'You know what? Adam isn't good with vending machines, I'm gonna go offer my expertise.'

AND SHE LEFT ME AT THE MERCY OF THE HOLY MAN.

'Susannah?' Father Dom said quietly. 'Susannah, what is wrong? There's more that you wish to tell me. I can see it in your eyes.'

I winced. 'Uhhh . . . well, it's kinda . . . last night, I . . . the thing is – '

'You and Paul?' Father Dom said tonelessly.

I looked at him quickly. 'How – how did you - ?'

'Susannah,' he sighed, 'I have been hearing confession for over thirty years. I think that I'm rather an expert when it comes to what people view as their sins. In addition, I rather expected that this would happen. It was obvious to me that the pair of you acted a certain way around each other.'

I stared at the old, bald guy in abject horror.

HOW DO SIXTY-SOMETHING-YEAR-OLDS PICK THIS UP WHEN I DON'T?

'Um,' I said. 'Er, I didn't know that.'

'Obviously not,' he said. 'And undoubtedly, you believe you caused Danielle's death?' His eyes were momentarily weighed down with grief.

'Uh – '

'Do not think that. Danielle's actions were her own, when she decided to have . . . relations with the Misfortunates. She did not deserve what happened to her in the least. You shall never hear me say that. But Susannah, it is not your fault. She was murdered out of cold blood. Not by you.'

I groaned. 'But it wouldn't have happened if Paul and I hadn't have – '

'That is not the issue,' Father Dom said in a louder voice than my own. 'Susannah, don't blame yourself.'

I was still majorly grossed out that a _priest_ could have foreseen the dramatic jumpstart to my sex life.

But that's just me, ya know.

'That said,' Father D murmured, 'You have not had a phone call from Sister Ernestine, have you?'

'Uhm,' I was surprised, 'No.'

He sighed. 'She told my doctor that she was gathering the required amount that would cover the costs of my radiotherapy, but obviously, she has not reached that amount yet.' He sighed again. 'Oh well . . . God works in mysterious ways, Susannah.'

'You're telling me,' I muttered.

He laughed gently, and then AGAIN, sighed. 'Do the police know Dani's cause of death yet?'

'They said they'd get back autopsy stuff tomorrow,' I said. 'And THEN they'd start questioning us, if necessary. They're pretty sure that she OD'ed, though. That's what it looks like, after all.'

Father Dominic closed his eyes temporarily. 'Susannah, get my rosary beads out for me, would you? Second drawer . . . that one, yes . . .'

I passed them to him.

He held them for a moment, and then opened his eyes again. 'What do you plan to do now? I believe that I'm rather bed bound, and therefore cannot bless the school in any way.'

'That's why I came,' I said. 'What do YOU think we should do? You're the one who always knows everything.'

He muttered something under his breath.

'What?' I asked.

'I'm . . . I'm just tired, Susannah,' he said gently.

'Oh,' I said. 'Uh, I'll go - ?'

Okay, when I say that, I usually expect the NO NO NO! STAY! thing, but if I did then, I was sadly disappointed.

'Yes,' he said. 'That might be . . . best . . . ' His forehead wrinkled in pain.

I swear, this was just not happening . . . why was everything going so wrong? God, it was like a hellish alternate dimension, where things weren't ALLOWED to go right.

Okay, uh, that really wasn't a helpful visit. I mean, no doubt I'd put a load on HIS mind. And now I had to seriously think about what I was going to do with this whole money issue. I mean, he needed it quickly. Maybe . . . maybe we could get Mr Head to pay for Dani's money as compensation for what happened to her, and we could use that to pay for Father Dom's therapy -

No way, Suze. That's COLD

Maybe I could just get mine in advance, and pay for him? God . . . I didn't know what to do. He looked so tired. And sad. Like he was getting slowly sicker, and he would continue to deteriorate if I didn't do something.

This isn't how life is supposed to go.

You know, continuous bad events.

Like that freakin' Lemony Snicket book series. With Jim Carrey in the movie they made of it.

A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Ha. These weren't unfortunate.

(More like Misfortunate.)

They were nightmares.

When I got up off the guest chair and went to exit the room, Father Dom was pretty much asleep again, holding his rosary beads firmly in his hand. His lips were moving. Like he was praying or something.

. . . God doesn't listen to the SIA anymore . . .

Did he EVER?

No.

He didn't.

God's whole Christianity thing is CRAP. I mean, not even his buddies (the ones who actually BELIEVED in him) got it easy. NO. They got TUMORS and LOVES with DEAD PEOPLE that NEVER WORKED OUT.

In the white, cold hallways of the hospital, I saw CeeCee, Adam and Jack waiting for me to come out. As soon as they saw me, they pretended to look busy to make it seem like they WEREN'T giving me time to talk to Father Dom about people I'd screwed the night before, as opposed to just HAPPENING to come back from the vending machine at that PRECISE POINT IN TIME.

'Come on,' I said. 'Let's go.'

Back to where this hell began.

8 -

When we got back from the hospital, I decided that we had to have a meeting of some kind. I mean . . . everyone was in shambles. The SIA was a mess. One of our colleagues was in hospital, and one was dead. This wasn't a safe job, anymore. I mean, it never was, but now, the stakes were so high that they were out of sight. I couldn't even see them anymore.

I mean . . . Adam, CeeCee and Jack . . . if ANYTHING happened to them, I'd -

I don't know.

I really don't.

In the library, I sat on the table. CeeCee was next to me, not talking, Adam was staring into space again, a very blank look on his face. He was scared.

I didn't blame him.

And Jack . . . God. He was just painful to look at. He was trying. He really was. To keep it together, I mean. He didn't want to crack.

But I knew that it wasn't long before he did.

Paul and Jesse showed up. Paul sat down, and Jesse stood behind Jack, and put his hand on his shoulder supportively. Paul shot Jesse a dirty look at that action, but said nothing.

I sighed, and made sure that my eyes NEVER came into contact with Paul's. Because if they did, then I knew that I'd be exactly like Jack.

I'd crack, too.

As in, crash and burn.

'Okay,' I said, my voice sounding kind of rusty, 'Uhhh . . . I think we really needed to, you know, get together and just . . . see how everyone's going . . . '

Wow. That sure was inspirational. Bet that was life-changing.

No one spoke for a moment. I felt stupid. Then Jesse said, 'We are . . . as fine as we can be, under the very unfortunate circumstances.'

Again, Paul threw a glare at Jesse.

I nodded. 'Right . . . uh, well, do we know what's happening with Jack?'

Thirteen-year-old in question jerked up. 'Huh? What about me?'

'You're going home,' Paul said. 'I'm taking you tonight back to Pops' - '

'No!' Jack protested. 'I told you, I don't want to go! CeeCee said this morning that there's no danger. Just because of what Dani did to herse - '

'Jack,' I said loudly to cover up what we all knew was both incorrect, tactless and painful, 'You're going, and that's final. So, Paul, you're . . . ' I looked at his neck. Not at him. ' . . . taking him back?'

'Yes,' he said stiffly. 'Tonight.'

'It's too long a drive,' CeeCee said. 'You should wait till tomorrow. Listen - ' she turned to Adam, 'If I go with you, will you take him back?'

Jack looked outraged.

Adam narrowed his eyes curiously. ' . . . Leave the school? Permanently?'

'No,' CeeCee said. 'I'm coming back. You can if you want. You don't have to.'

Adam held her hand. 'I'm not leaving you here on your own.'

I coughed a little. 'Uh, wow. I sure feel like nothing now. Thanks.'

Adam shook his head. 'No, I just meant . . . '

'I know,' I said softly, crossing my legs on the desk.

Paul's arms were folded. 'Fine, you two'll take him back to Carmel.'

Oops. I guess he was looking forward to the trip away from m - uhh, Fortunaschwein.

Jesse said, 'What about tonight?'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Huh?' CeeCee went.

'Jesse spoke,' Jack said dully.

'Oh.'

'Tonight,' Jesse explained. 'Is it . . . wise to sleep inside?'

There was a murmur of agreement from Paul, as he eyed me. 'Uh,' I went. 'Where are we supposed to go then?'

'Sleep in cars outside,' Paul suggested. 'Just for the nights. They know not to go out of school grounds.'

'But they can - ' I protested, but I looked at Paul's eyes, and saw that he knew very WELL they could, but was saying this as if they were eavesdropping.

'I mean, of course they can't,' I said quickly. Paul's lips went crooked in a wry smirk as if to say, Oh-well-done-Suze.

'Right,' I nodded curtly. 'What else?'

'Dinner,' CeeCee said. 'Uhm, I think we should just order in. Adam and I don't really feel in the mood for cooking.'

'Fair enough,' I said. 'Chinese, everybody?' There was a place in Gilroy, I remember it. It was on the back of one of the Pete's Pizza brochures that I had from that day out with the Slater brothers. I could scab the number from there, and blackmail the restaurant people to deliver, or else I'd smite their firstborn children.

Everyone agreed.

Not that I was really going to eat much . . . I don't think anyone really was. But it was comfortable having foor, I guess.

'Anything else we need to talk about?'

'Tomorrow, I have to go to the police station,' Paul said. 'Autopsy on Dani'll be done, and we need to see what . . . they concluded.'

A grim, dark silence fell down on us.

I coughed. 'Sure,' I nodded. 'You can do that when CeeCee and Adam take Jack back.'

'I don't WANT to - '

'You're coming with me,' Paul said. He was demanding my eye contact again, but I refused to look at him. Not when I felt as low as I did.

'No I'm not,' I said. 'I can stay with Jesse.'

Paul let out a scornful noise, and looked away angrily. 'Riiiiiight.'

'I can protect her better than YOU obviously can, Slater,' Jesse snapped. 'As you proved this morning - '

I cleared my throat, and motioned to Jack, who was looking confused. 'Huh?'

'Yeah, huh?' Adam went. 'Can someone like . . . repeat stuff that Jesse-boy says? It's kinda hard to get into a conversation flow - '

CeeCee elbowed him.

'So,' I said loudly. 'That sounds like it's pretty much it . . . anything else?'

'Do I have to go?' Jack whimpered. 'I don't want to go. I want to stay with y - . . . stay here.'

'You're going tomorrow, Jack,' Paul said firmly. 'Pack tonight.'

Jack glared. 'This sucks.'

'Yeah, it also sucks that Dani's dead,' I snapped at him. 'But we have to live with that, too.' I ran my hands down my face.

'Okay,' I dismissed, 'That's pretty much it. Cee, I'll give you the Chinese Take-Out number, and uhhh . . . Paul, I need to talk to you.'

I chanced a look up at him, and saw that his eyes were narrowed curiously at me.

Oh, joy.

I told CeeCee briefly where to find the brochure in my room, and Adam went with her to get it. Jesse lead Jack away to pack his stuff.

'Listen,' I said, 'I want to say this quickly – '

'Suze,' Paul said.

'I know it's not really my place to ask for this, but I really need this at the moment - '

'Suze,' he said again. I ignored him.

'Father Dominic needs money for his radiotherapy, and he can't start it until he has it,' I said tonelessly. 'You don't have to if you don't want to, but if you could just lend it, and . . . I'll pay you back as soon as we get paid for this job. Interest, if you want, I don't care. But he needs it real bad, and I don't know what else to do - '

'Suze,' Paul said louder.

'So?' I crossed my arms.

He blinked, looking kind of frustrated. 'We need to talk.'

'We ARE talking,' I pointed out. 'Now seriously, just tell me yes or no, so I can see if I can get the money somewhere else - '

Just as long as I don't resort to prostitution. Eww.

'Look, yes,' he said. 'I mean - of course I wouldn't say no, and - you don't have to pay it back - '

'Yes I do,' I said stiffly. 'Okay. Thank you. Really.'

I turned to go, but his hand came to my elbow. 'Wait - '

I brushed it off.

I guess he didn't appreciate how badly he'd hurt me earlier. 'No can do, sorry. I'll, uh, see you later.'

I walked out of the library as quickly as I could, and as soon as I was outside, I stopped, took the BIGGEST breath, tried not to break, composed myself, and continued on.

8 -

Chinese wasn't exactly a grand affair. The restaurant refused to deliver, more so when they heard where we were temporarily residing. CeeCee and Adam ended up having to go up to get it from Gilroy. They both came back, shaken up majorly. Apparently, on a TV at the restaurant, there'd been a huge thing about Danielle Moore's shock-death.

Well, that's great. Now the whole world's going to know about it. Apparently they said that didn't know cause of death yet, but police were leaning towards suicide, and autopsy reports would prove this theory.

God. She was still in the news, even as a corpse.

After I'd taken a couple of mouthfuls, I felt pretty sick, and ate no more. I think that the atmosphere was getting thicker, heavier, and even more asphyxiating. We were all pretty much ready to go outside for the night. Jack was pretty out of it. He was so tired, but was trying to stay awake. Poor guy . . .

I was tired myself. Drained, you know?

I mean . . . pretty much 18 hours ago, I hadn't been sleeping by myself. And now, I would be. It was just hard. I mean . . . the prospect of never trusting anyone enough to not sleep by myself again . . . it was scary. After how Paul was treating me, I didn't really WANT to think about it. I felt like shit. To him, I probably was.

. . . Can't change that, I guess.

I had a rug with me in Father Dom's car. Paul was in his own with Jack, and CeeCee Adam were in . . . CeeCee and Adam's car.

Figures.

I'd taken a drowsy pill to help me sleep. God knew I wouldn't otherwise. So many things were going on in my head. Oh well. At least I had one assurance: that Father Dom's radiotherapy was going to go okay, providing that Paul kept his word on the money thing.

And of COURSE I'd pay him back. Every cent. Who did he think I was? Some bitch who mooched off of his money, like his previous girlfriend?

Who was unavoidably dead . . .

You would not ever hear me say, as the pills were taking affect, and I was sinking into a dreamless sleep, that I did not feel lonely.

I did.

There were no arms holding me. My breathing wasn't fast and uneven anymore. My heart wasn't soring, and I was feeling anything BUT pleasure and pain.

Well, maybe a little pain.

But not physical, anymore.

Save, you know, my back, after what the Misforts did to me today.

So yeah. I felt cold, and numb, and hated, and so, SO alone . . .

It was like, ten or something when my eyes drifted closed. And when I was being awoken at four in the morning, it felt like I'd only slept for ten minutes.

'Suze . . . ? Suze, please wake up. Please . . . pleeeeeeease - '

Okay. I may be a bitch sometimes, but there's no way that I can ignore it when a teenage boy is crying and begging for me not to be asleep.

Instantly, (okay, maybe not so instantly, shut up, I drugged myself up, okay?) I groaned, and looked around in confusion. 'Huh . . . Jack? Is that - '

He was silhouetted against the moonlight, and was patting my arm. 'Suze - '

I sat up. 'Jack, what's - '

He moved quickly into my arms, hugging me tightly, crying.

'Jack?' I said, panicking. It was really cold in the car. I hadn't noticed while I was asleep, but I did now. 'Jack, what's wrong? Jack? Why are you shaking?' I held him close. 'Shhh, calm down, what happened.'

He wouldn't talk. He'd slowed in his crying, but he was still shivering. But I doubted it was because he was cold.

I pulled the covers over him. 'Jack,' I said. I mean . . . I wasn't exactly good with kids. I didn't know what to do? What if he'd wet the bed? What -

Suze, he's thirteen, not five.

And he wasn't sleeping in a bed. He was in Paul's CAR. Which is leather. And would therefore get brutally slain by his brother if he should have so happened to urinate in his Jaguar.

His head was buried against my neck, and I could still feel him trembling. He was like ice, I swear. 'Shhhhh,' I whispered again, rubbing his back a little, feeling like a total pedophile. 'It's, um, okay.'

'I saw - I saw her - ' he stuttered incoherently. 'Walking - white, she . . . and then . . . they were . . . and she was . . . she tried to - and - she - '

'Who?' I asked quickly.

'Dani,' he sniffed, still shaking. 'Her eyes were grey - '

Okay. First indicator - ghosts don't have grey eyes.

'Jack, shhhhhh,' I soothed. 'It's okay, you were dreaming.'

'No I wasn't - she was outside the car and - she was covered in her towel - '

Second indicator. Ghosts come back in their prime of life, not their death clothes.

Not that Dani was wearing much when she was . . . never mind.

'Jack,' I said. 'Look, I promise, you were just dreaming. I promise.'

'She tried to - ' he began again.

God, he was hysterical. And, um, pretty strong. I felt like I was being choked to death, he was hugging me so tightly. 'Jack,' I hissed firmly, 'Look at me.'

He did. His lips were quavering, and his face was stark white.

'What colour are my eyes?' I asked him patiently.

Slowly, he said, ' . . . Green.'

'That's right,' I replied. 'What colour would they be if I was a ghost?' He blinked. He didn't know what I was saying. 'They'd be green,' I explained. 'Jesse's are brown. Dani's were hazel, not grey. You know that. That doesn't change when you die. Am I right?'

He didn't agree straight away. He was staring at my eyes in horror. Aww, man . . . he was freezing. 'Am I right, Jack? Do people's eye colour change when they die?'

'N-no,' he said. 'But - '

'And remember Maria?' I persisted. 'Maria de Silva? The pretty ghost that made you exorcise Jesse?'

Okay, um, Suze? Bad wording. He started crying again.

'No, no - Jack, I mean - I didn't mean it like that - Jack, shhhhhhh - ' I rubbed his back again, and he hugged himself right against me again. Which, you know, is saying something, because the guy is almost as big as me.

Just not quite as old.

Cough.

'Do you remember her?' I went on doggedly.

'Y-yes,' he sobbed.

'She was like, eighty when she died,' I said. 'Did she look eighty to you?'

'No,' he said, moving his head away from my neck again. 'She looked like you when you were - when - when you were sixteen - '

'Exactly,' I said. 'She didn't look like she did when she died. And neither would Dani.'

I didn't like to mention that my Dad's ghost was wearing the same shirt he died in. I mean . . . who needs to know that at a time like this?

'Okay?' I said. 'And furthermore, she would not be all white. Honey, you had a bad dream, and I don't blame you . . . that was rough stuff today.'

'Yesterday,' he said shakily. 'It's . . . it's a new day now.'

I smiled supportively, trying not to think about what exactly would scare this kid so much in a dream that he'd be in this state.

I mean, Dani's pretty scary ALIVE. But as a zombie . . . sheesh.

Braaaaaains . . . BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAINS . . .

Erm . . . You get the idea.

'That's right,' I said. 'It's a new day, okay?'

Not necessarily a BETTER one, but a new one.

Ha. I didn't know how true that would turn out to be . . .'Okay, Jack? See, this is why Paul wants you to go home. Because you shouldn't have seen her this morning. But you did, and I'm sorry. It's nothing to be scared about, though. She's not coming back, okay? That's the way it is. And even if she did, she'd try to claw MY eyes out, not yours. I'm not exactly on her list of favourite people, am I.'

He laughed very softly. He wasn't shaking so much anymore.

'Can I - ' he paused, and licked his lips. 'Can I stay in here?'

Sure, Suze. You've slept with ONE Slater, why not the other?

'Uh,' I said, 'I don't know - '

'Please?' he asked quickly. 'Please, I mean, I just . . . I don't want - '

'Okay,' I sighed. 'Don't do anything kinky, okay?'

I've had enough crap from your brother.

. . . God, I AM a pedophile. AAAAAAAAAH!

Jack calmed down a little bit more. 'Thank you,' he said in a tiny voice. He got off my lap - UGH, KINKY THOUGHTS, GO AWAY! I AM NOT A CHILD MOLESTOR, I SWEAR! - and sat beside me. I shared my rug with him, and he was asleep within half an hour.

Holding my hand.

Which, you know, is kind of cute.

. . . As long as he doesn't accuse me of being a kiddie-lover, come morning.

I mean, I don't APPROVE of Michael Jackson's extra curricular activities, okay?

Whatever.

As I was trying to get back to sleep, I saw someone wandering around outside.

Okay, I'll admit, I had to control my bladder for 0.0005 seconds. Then I realized that it was just Jesse, and not a zombie Dani, out for brains.

Ha. If she came to _me_ for any, she'd be sadly disappointed.

Jesse saw me awake through the car window. I must admit, now I had evil zombie Dani corpses on the mind, his paleness from the moonlight WAS kind of creepy. 'Susannah?' he mouthed through the window.

I waved a little. I'm sorry, but my heart always twanged a little painfully at every glance I got of Jesse, now.

I mean, it was kinda bad enough that I wasn't in love with him, and that he KNEW I wasn't. But the fact that I'd kind of ended up horizontal with his arch nemesis, well . . . that was something he could never know. I mean, it would kill him if he found out.

Again.

He moved to the driver's seat car door, and moved right through the glass and metal, seating himself in front of me and looking back. He looked so stark in the moonlight. Like a black and white photo. No shades. Just . . . light and shadow. 'Why is Jack not in Slater's car?'

'He had a nightmare,' I said in a soft voice. 'And I guess he didn't think that Paul would be as accommodating, at this hour.'

Jesse smiled slightly, looking at Jack. 'Bad dream?'

'Dani,' I said.

'I see,' he replied. 'Well . . . it's to be expected, _querida_. He was too young to have - '

'Susannah,' I said.

He stopped. _'Que_?'

'Susannah,' I said again. 'Not - I'm not querida anymore, Jesse.'

He went very still. 'Oh,' he breathed, after a moment. His face looked . . . oh, God. WHY did I have to say that?

'I - ' he coughed a little. 'I should go . . . I'm watching over you, after all. wouldn't want anything else to happen . . . '

He looked back at me, and I blinked down. 'Erm . . . good night then.'

Jesse bowed his head. 'Good night. Susannah.'

I bit my lip. He turned to do his whole ghostly-move-through-the-glass thing, but stopped, not looking at me. 'You will always be _mi querida_, Susannah. _Siempre_.'

And he left.

. . . Something wet streaked down my face.


	26. Cole

**It's 4am. Sue me if I'm not talkative.**

**- Lolly.**

**Love us.**

- 8 -

When I woke up at seven the next morning, there was nothing to indicate that that day would be almost as horrible as its previous.

I mean, seriously. The sun looked so comfortable in the sky, shining rays of warmth across Gilroy, that I would have never guessed what was going to happen. It seemed unreal that yesterday had gone so horribly wrong. That Danielle Moore's stiff, cold body had been found in a shower on Fortunaschwein's own third floor.

Surreal.

Jack was still sleeping. His upper body was stretched across my lap, and he was snoring softly. Well, uh, at least he wasn't drooling this time. And even if he was, it wasn't like I was wearing anything fashionable or otherwise ruin-able. See? I count my blessings, honest.

I remembered that this morning, he was going back home. God, I wish that I could have been him. I would have done anything to get out of here, away from the Misfortunates, away from Dani's death place, away from Jesse and Paul, away from this hell.

I mean, really. I thought Massachusetts was bad?

I didn't have a CLUE about bad until I'd arrived at this school.

Little did I know that a collision of my two hells was destined to soon occur.

'Jack,' I whispered, running my hand up his back gently, 'Jack, wake up. Come on, it's morning.'

He mumbled something incoherent about school and his girlfriend Mary, but otherwise ignored me completely.

Though calm and rested, he still lacked the peace usually aquainted with good sleep. Instead of possessing that cute lil-sleepy-darling charm most young boys have when they snooze, he looked troubled.

But nothing troubling in a dream could ever compare to the nightmare our world had become. No wonder he didn't want to wake up.

I sighed, and prayed for patience. Well, as much as I could, considering I had a few bones to pick with The Big Man himself. I still prayed, though.

Then I jabbed him in the side.

Well, um, that woke him up.

He sat up so fast that he bashed his head on the roof of Father Dom's car, looking around in alarm.

'WHERE?' he yelled.

I raised my eyebrows at him, and when he turned to see me doing so, he blushed. 'Uhhhh . . . sorry,' he went. 'I was – I was just – '

'Snoring,' I finished for him. 'Come on, Jack. You're going back today, have you got everything packed?'

He shook his head. 'Jesse said I could finish the rest of my stuff in the morning,' he told me.

'Well come with me, I'll help you,' I said.

Father Dom, being a priest and all, didn't really have a fancy car. It was kind of small, but in a cozy way. It was a little difficult maneuvering through the mess of the covers Jack and I shared. Twisting out of them was hard, especially for Jack because he had long legs.

We finally twisted out of the mess of blankets (and the rug) and made it out of the car alive, and reasonably untangled.

We passed Paul's car. He was still sleeping in the passenger's seat. His mouth was open slightly, and he was frowning. Like he too was having bad dreams about his former girlfriend, just like Jack had earlier. I think I stared for a moment longer than was polite, before looking away hurriedly.

It took a while to finish packing all the rest of Jack's stuff. Apparently, Jesse wasn't as good at this baby-sitting thing as I thought. I mean, he had enough trouble looking after me when I was-

a kid. That's exactly what I was, back then. A kid locked into a crazy, childish fantasy of something that can't, didn't, and will not EVER happen.

But, anyway, Jack's stuff was only half-packed. And it didn't really seem like Jack was all that enthusiastic about packing the other half, even with my help.

When the last bag was packed, I placed it on his bed and said in the lightest tone I could manage in a time like this, 'Well, kiddo, let's get this stuff downstairs.'

I took one of the bags off the bed and made my way to the door. I noticed that Jack didn't follow my lead, so I turned around to face him. He gave me a withering look.

'I don't want to go,' Jack said.

'I know doing the right thing is hard to do,' I explained, 'but sometimes it requires doing something you don't want to do.'

Yeah, like letting Jesse down. That wasn't so easy for me. I didn't want to crush his heart like that, but I had to. It just wasn't right.

Apparently, neither was the Paul thing. Even if it was something I had kind of secretly wanted deep, deep down. But I wasn't about to go admitting that to his little brother who didn't even know of our late-night relations. And there was no way in HELL I'd admit that to Paul himself, either.

'I want to stay.'

'No you don't, Jack, trust me.'

'I _KNOW_ what I want,' Jack's voice raised a few decibels. 'I'm not a _baby_. I wish people would stop treating me like one, already!'

'You want to end up _dead_, Jack?'

Jack stopped dead still. My word choice was, yet again, a big mistake. He didn't know about the Misforts' involvement in the death- I mean, MURDER- of Dani Moore.

'What do you mean?' he breathed.

'Nevermind that,' I said quickly. 'Just…it's not very safe here. We've taken a big blow, and its going to take some time to recover. I have a feeling, Jack, that we'll be getting a few more punches than we have time to get back up on our feet. And besides, this place is too scary to stay, especially after…you know.'

Jack looked at the ground and then looked back up at me. 'I-I'm not scared,' he said, his voice wavering unsurely.

'Yes you are, Jack. You couldn't even sleep a full night peacefully, and we weren't even inside the damn building,' I pointed out, accidentally forgetting to censor my words. It was hard to remember that, especially since Jack had lost his childhood innocence. No kid his age sees a thing like that and remain a normal thirteen-year-old.

Jack looked a little more than taken aback. He blinked a few times, and a single tear ran down his cheek. He wiped it off angrily with the back of his hand and glared furiously at me.

'If this place is so scary,' he sniffed angrily, 'then why don't you leave too, Suze?'

I sighed. What is it with the youth of today?

'Because,' I explained impatiently, 'I've got a job to do-'

'So you're admitting you're scared, too,' Jack said, crossing his arms. He had me in his little trap.

I think it's in his genes to be right all the time. Do you know how much that sucks?

When I couldn't find myself answering his question, he smirked the same I'm-right-you're-wrong-I'm-so-much-better-than-you-lowly-peasant smirk his brother pulled on me so many times. I dropped Jack's bag and tried everything I could to keep from losing it and exploding in tears.

Oh God. Not him, too.

That hurt. It really did. It was like getting another put-down from Paul Slater himself. The apple truly doesn't fall far from the tree…

But the tears drove a strong rebellion. They escaped from my eyes in an angry mob, tearing down my face and burning my cheeks on the way down.

And the next thing I knew, Jack was in my arms, head buried deep in my chest, crying his eyes out just like I was.

'I-I'm s-sorry, Suze,' he sobbed, lifting his head from my chest so he could look at me. 'I am scared. But that's why I don't want to leave. I'm not scared about me…I'm scared about _you_.'

'What do you-?'

'I don't know what made Dani do…that,' Jack cried, 'she was obviously really depressed. And ever since she, you know, died, you've been acting really weird. You're, like, really scared about things now. And you've been crying lots.'

Observant little fella, ain't he?

'Don't worry about me, Jack,' I told him as I ruffled his hair.

'But…what about that guy,' he asked with a sniffle.

'What guy?'

'That Cole guy? That guy Dani was talking about. What if he finds you?'

I hadn't had time to think about that much since Dani's death. The only other time it was mentioned was by CeeCee. I pretty much blew her off, which was what I planned to do for Jack.

'That's the least of my worries,' I said. 'And besides, I can handle him. I've managed in the past.'

Yeah. Like I managed to get that big bruise on my cheek…

Jack stopped crying and sniffling. He looked a little less troubled now. He wiped his eyes using the bottom of his shirt. When he was done, he managed a small smile.

'You go to the bathroom as wash your face off,' I told him, with a little pat on his cheek. 'I won't tell anyone I saw you crying, if you'll go back to Carmel and forget about this…deal?'

'Deal,' he sniffed. He scuffled over to the door, but before he exited he turned around and said, 'I'll miss you, Suze. You're the only one that understands me sometimes.'

He left the room shortly after his little speech. I smiled to myself and picked up his bags to take downstairs, where I'd wait for him to come down. We would then wait on Adam and CeeCee who had so graciously volunteered to take him home.

The bags were kind of heavy. Jack's various hand-held gaming systems were a little heavier than I imagined when thrown into the mix of clothes and shoes. Especially since Jack preferred to wear Converse, Vans, and Doc Marten's.

Converse are light and Vans aren't too bad, but Doc Marten's seem to weigh 20 pounds a pop. And the fact that I was sore all over didn't quite help matters.

But, luckily (or unluckily in other senses), Jesse appeared to take some off my hands. Oh, Goodie.

I immediately set down the bags as Jesse appeared in front of me. He didn't startle me or anything, but his sudden presence made me feel tired all of a sudden. This whole _place_ made me tired.

I thought I could start all over again, just like the first time I moved to California. Get a new start. I could forget about my abusive boyfriend, my usually dead-end jobs, and make some money while I was at it. I don't quite know at what moment of insanity I decided to take this plunge, but now I know fully that it just wasn't worth it anymore.

Jesse looked at me apologetically as he hoisted one of the bags on his shoulder.

'Last night he was just so inconsolable,' Jesse explained, 'and I just could not make him pack that way.'

I nodded in understanding. Jesse took on a few more bags, and left me with one wimpy little carry-on size backpack. I wasn't about to object to Jesse's inadvertent sexist statement because, like I said earlier, I was tired. Dead tired.

'He doesn't want to leave,' I told Jesse as I navigated down the long hallways.

'I know,' Jesse replied, 'but it is the best thing for him.'

'I don't understand it, though. He said he didn't want to go because he was afraid for me, or something stupid like that,' I said.

'I do not think that is stupid at all,' Jesse commented, a little too darkly for my liking.

I stopped in my tracks. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

Jesse stopped, too, and did that little running-hand-through-the-hair-bit he always pulled when he was slightly frustrated. 'It means,' he said, 'that contrary to your personal belief, Susannah, people do care about you. Not everyone here is against you. In fact, it is quite the opposite. We are one team, _querida_.'

'I told you not to call me that,' I snapped.

Jesse continued walking down the hall.

'I know,' he said.

I stared at him as he started down the stairs. I then picked up the backpack and ran after him, grumbling about how unfair he was being. He walked ahead of me a little, and I swear I could hear him chuckling. Chuckling at _ME_.

Well, _I_ didn't think it was that funny.

I saw CeeCee and Adam at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. They seemed to be talking quietly about something.

'Right _now_?' CeeCee said in an audible whisper. 'I mean…isn't this a little short notice?'

'A lot of things can happen between now and then, CeeCee,' Adam said, gently caressing her cheek.

'You're right,' CeeCee said.

And that's noticed me climbing down the stairs with one little backpack…

…and a few other heavy bags levitating at least 5 feet in the air. I guess that kind of thing is hard to ignore.

'Whoa, that's trippy,' Adam said, breaking off his little conversation with Cee.

'Hey Suze…hey Jesse,' CeeCee said, greeting us a little absently. She stepped away from Adam, looking as if she had something on her mind.

Adam looked at her, puzzled, for a moment and then asked, 'Where's Jack?'

I'd promised Jack I wouldn't tell anyone about the cry-fest earlier, so I replied, 'He's upstairs brushing his teeth.'

'Oh,' Adam said. He looked at CeeCee again, who had her arms folded over her chest, gnawing on her thumb. I was about to ask what was wrong, when Adam cut me off, commenting, 'Your face is puffy.'

'Allergies,' I replied automatically. I always blamed them. I mean, the pesky critters are camped out everywhere. They disguise themselves as kittens or pretty flowers or tall Cottonwood trees…

And I hide behind them.

After a sort of uncomfortable silence and thick tension between us all, Jesse and I for obvious reasons but Adam and CeeCee for reasons they didn't seem to want to discuss, I decided to call for Jack.

A figure emerged downstairs, and for a moment I thought it was Jack because I saw dark brown curls, but I later saw that it was Paul.

'Oh, it's you,' I found myself saying bitterly. 'I thought you were Jack for a moment.'

'I just passed him. He's on his way down,' Paul replied.

I just stared at him. How could he act like nothing was going on? I mean, is it programmed into all men's' heads not to respond to anything emotional? First off, his little brother- his FLESH AND BLOOD- was just about to leave, and second of all…what about me?

It's not like it really mattered what HE was thinking about ME. I mean, we only just spent one night of pure bliss together. That was it. All the rest was nothing. But that didn't mean he had to go and act like nothing ever happened. That he didn't say what he'd said…

How did this go from Jack to Paul? I don't even want to know.

Paul finished descending the stairs in his usual manner that oozed a sexy, masculine grace and poise. And the fact that he was in a white button down shirt compliments of Polo by Ralph Lauren and some really nice fitting Diesel jeans didn't help matters. Did I mention that he didn't button the top two buttons of his shirt?

Not that it mattered. Sexy wasn't just about looking good and being excellent in the sack. It also dealt with not being a JERK. So, HAH.

I wanted to make it absolutely, positively clear to Paul that I didn't care, even if I wasn't quite sure whether or not I did. So I told him off all right.

'You need to cut your hair,' I sniffed with utmost dignity.

Wow. I think I need some psychiatric help. Seriously, what does a stupid haircut prove?

Well, I mean, besides the fact that his hair was so long and kind of curly-ish, and that one bit that fell in his eyes all the time was kind of-

You know what? I'll stop there for now.

Paul ran his hands through his hair, tilting his head back in a mini pose and then shook his hair out. Then he shrugged, kind of ignoring my little comment.

After a few more moments of uncomfortable stares, glares, and coughing, Jack finally trudged down the stairs, looking a little lighter in spirits than he had earlier. Then again, that might all change depending how we all take the blow of his departure.

'You ready, little guy?' Adam asked, taking his keys from his pockets.

Jack looked down and the up at Paul, pleadingly. 'Do I _really_ have to go?' Jack asked once again, his lower lip pouting.

'Jack,' Paul said sternly, almost fatherly, 'we've been over this.'

Jack sighed loudly and kicked the ground a little with the toe of his beat up Converse All Stars.

Paul rolled his eyes, not in annoyance or anything, but with a small grin.

'Come here,' he motioned, holding his arms out for a hug.

'I'm not hugging you,' Jack said, wrinkling his nose, 'You smell funny. Like ten gallons of after-shave or something.'

'And you smell like you _need_ ten gallons of after-shave,' Paul retorted good-naturedly. He then pulled Jack in for a quick hug. The initial awkwardness melted away in seconds, and it melted the plasticity of their relationship. It was a rare moment, but I could actually see somewhat of a brotherly connection between the two.

But then that kind of went away when Jack whined, 'You aren't gonna kiss me nothing, are you?'

'Hell no,' Paul backed away, disgusted.

'Thank God.'

After they stopped their embrace, Paul and Jack both coughed, bringing things back to what they were originally. I thought I saw Paul wipe something away from his eye, but I might have been hallucinating.

Then Jack turned to Jesse, who had dropped the bags by now. Jack smiled fondly at Jesse and nearly propelled himself into Jesse's arms. Jesse looked a little surprised at first, but he welcomed it with a warmness that radiated throughout the whole room.

'Take care of yourself,' Jesse advised softly.

'Yeah, well you have to take care of everyone else here,' Jack said. 'And Father Dom, too.'

'I would like nothing more,' Jesse replied.

'And you have to promise to visit me sometimes,' Jack pleaded. 'If you're not too busy, I mean.'

'Time is no object for me,' Jesse smiled at Jack, ruffling his hair. 'I promise I will come to visit.'

Jack let go of Jesse and gave Jesse a wary smile. He then took a step forward and said with a choked laugh, 'I can't believe I exorcised you that one time. I totally believed everything that Maria lady told me about you. I know that was a big mistake, especially since Suze went all postal on me. She was all, "You exorcised my best friend!" I guess I never thought you could have ghosts as best friends. But now I know you can, because I do.'

Jesse looked extremely shocked, but at the same time touched. 'Jack-'

'No really,' Jack insisted, now with a small tear trickling down his face, 'you're my best friend. My best friend in the whole world. I don't want to leave here.'

Jesse extended his arm and rested it on Jack's shoulder. He smiled warmly at him and replied, 'As a friend, Jack, I am advising you to leave. You already have my word…I will come to visit you.'

Jack sniffled some more and then croaked in the saddest voice ever, 'Thanks, Jesse.'

'Sorry to break up the tear-fest,' Adam said, 'but we've really got to hit the road.'

'I'm not in any hurry,' Jack said glumly.

Adam looked at CeeCee. Well, obviously, they were. I still didn't know why though.

Adam and CeeCee went over to the mound where Jesse had left the bags. Adam took one, looking up unsurely for permission to take it. After all, he really couldn't see Jesse to know whether or not Jesse was still taking them. Paul took a hint and grabbed some bags as well.

I went over to Jack and slipped his back-pack over his shoulders and then patted him on the back gently.

Hell, I was gonna miss the little guy. He was, like, the only piece of sanity left in this house. He was, like, the hard foundation of our mental health. And now that the Earthquake the Misforts caused shook him up, he had to leave. It could only make me wonder, looking forward, what was going to happen to the members of the SIA that decided to stay.

I turned Jack around and gave him one last hug. Then, he did something really, really odd. He planted a big fat kiss on my cheek.

Once he realized what he'd done, he turned the brightest shade of fuchsia and backed away apologetically.

He mumbled a few apologies and said his final good-byes. With Adam, CeeCee, and Paul carrying his stuff, he waved one final wave as he disappeared through the front door of the school.

And just like that, he'd left.

8 -

So. Jack was gone.

I felt kind of torn when CeeCee and Adam were bustling him into the car. I so badly wanted him to stay, but I knew that for his sake, he needed to get out of here before he saw anything else that would make him even more shaken up than he already was.

Hence, Jack was now gone. CeeCee and Adam were temporarily gone, and it was just Jesse, Paul and I still at Fortunashwein.

For THAT moment, anyway.

I was in the library again, going through some of the year books again. I didn't know why, I just guess that I wanted to keep trying to crack this case and all. You know, WHY the Misforts were still hanging around, WHAT actually happened to Robin (since he didn't kill himself, it must have been something else that did,) and WHY Bart got caught in a fire with three boys who he obviously hated.

Bart was really confusing, you know? I mean, why did he even hang around those jerk-offs? They pushed him around and treated him like dirt. Lower than dirt…earthworm droppings. And it wasn't like the guys really needed him around anyway. He didn't have Nathan's sick humor, Charlie's massive muscles, or Robin's sexy-but-dangerous charm. Bart was just Bartie-boy.

Bart didn't even seem to like these guys. Countless times he's denied his ties with them. And yet he follows them around like a loyal little puppy dog, watching as they destroy the people that have come to help them.

He's weird. You know, in a totally endearing lost-puppy sort of way. But that still makes him weird.

For instance, when they push him around and stuff? Yeah, he just lets them. He doesn't fight back or anything. He doesn't even try to exact revenge.

Then again, I haven't exactly done anything to get back at Cole either. Yeah, I ran off to California, but that was more for safety than for spite. Maybe Bart and I have something in common after all.

I sighed and continued to look through each page, at every boy's face. There were thousands of young men, pimply faced and scholarly, captured in the pages of the past yearbooks.

I didn't know what I expected to find. In the yearbooks, I mean. It wasn't as if they'd have any answers. But whatever.

'Suze.'

I broke away from leafing through the old pages, and looked up to see Paul at the library door. I kind of blinked, swallowed, and looked back down.

'Hi,' I said coldly.

I heard him walk in as he took a seat in next to me. 'Are you coming?'

Again, I looked up at him. 'Huh?'

'Gilroy. Police Station. Dani's autopsy report, remember?'

'Hmm,' I commented expressionlessly, turning back to the year book. 'I told you yesterday, I'm not going with you.'

I looked back at the picture of the Honor Students of 1965, till Paul's hand tugged the yearbook away from me.

I looked up, kind of annoyed, but he moved his chair closer to me. 'Come on,' he said, 'The car ride would do the both of us good.'

'So we can talk?' I laughed humorlessly, 'Wow, fun.'

'Suze,' he said again.

He was sitting right in front of me, and his ice frosted eyes were gazing at me intensely.

I can't believe that for a whole night, I was looking up at those eyes.

'Look, go,' I said. 'I already said that I was staying here. Jesse'll be here, nothing will happen.'

I went to stand up, but his hand came over mine. 'Suze, please.'

I was getting tired. Of him, of everything. Of almost dying, of breaking Jesse's heart, of avoiding the things that I was scared of most, of . . .

Tired of life, I guess. Since you know, THAT'S all my life seemed to consist of.

Paul, death, and fear.

And Jesse.

I ran my free hand through my hair, ignoring the warmth of his fingers on mine. 'I don't get you,' I said wearily. 'You're just - you . . . '

You won't make up your mind.

'I don't have to do this,' I said again, pulling my hand from his and standing up. 'Paul, just go. Go find out how the police think she died. It'll be wrong, we both know that. Just go.'

He was staring at me.

'Fine,' he said after a moment, his voice crisp and casual once again. Then, he turned from me, and half-yelled, 'De Silva, get over here.'

It took a few seconds for Jesse to materialize. Ha. Guess his promptness is the way to tell if he's in love with you or not, huh?

Seeing as he's there for be before I even have to say for him to come, sometimes.

Jesse's expression went stony. 'Slater,' he nodded.

The tension in the library went WAAAAAY up. Paul shoved his hand in his pockets, and a jingle indicated that he'd found car keys. 'I'm going into Gilroy. Suze wants to stay here. With you,' he added, as if it were some heinous crime. 'I swear to God, if I come back and you've let the Misfortunates - '

'Need I remind you, Slater, I am more capable of protecting Susannah than you, if yesterday is any indication,' Jesse said in cold anger.

Paul stiffened.

'I don't need protecting,' I snapped at the pair of them.

God, what did they think I was? Some chick who gets bashed by her ex or something?

Ha. Funny, that.

Fine. Maybe I need WATCHING, sometimes. But not PROTECTING.

They both ignored me, staring each other down for a moment longer. They looked like those deer with the really big antlers on their head, getting reading to fight over some female deer or whatever. You know, circling each other and stuff before ramming into each other like they do on the Discovery Channel?

Only, Paul and Jesse didn't have sharp, pointy antler-thingies on their heads. Supernatural powers, maybe. But no antlers.

Paul gave me one last look - one that was half cutting, half worried - and he exited the library. After a minute, I heard the front door of the school slam a little louder than it necessary, and Jesse finally spoke again.

'I want to show you something,' he said.

I was still standing by my chair. 'Oh,' I said, 'Uh, okay.'

I grabbed the 1965 year book and shoved it back with the others, before looking back at him. 'Jesse, about last night - well, more like this morning, I guess - '

He looked like he didn't really want to talk about it. 'It's all right,' he said quickly. 'Perhaps it was needed. Anyhow, come with me, because this is something that may help with our little mystery here.'

I nodded quickly.

Maybe some things were best left unsaid.

I guess that all the tension hadn't left when Paul did.

I walked ahead of him, as he obviously didn't like walking in the lead with a woman following behind him. Either that or he wanted to look at my ass.

Which I highly, HIGHLY doubt. Considering Jesse's 1850's-gentleman status.

'So,' Jesse said, attempting to make conversation. 'Are you well this morning?'

I smiled a little, in spite of myself. 'I'm fine.'

Aren't I always?

Snort.

Jesse coughed, as he was guiding me to the stairwell. 'I don't suppose you'd know the reason, but Slater is acting strangely around you, Susannah.'

A flush of panic heated up my face. 'Uh,' I said quickly, 'Nah, I think he's just effed up majority of the time.'

Jesse laughed softly. 'I don't know your "effed up" term, but - '

'Means "fucked up",' I translated boredly for him. 'Screwy. Bonkers. Psychotic.'

'I see,' said Jesse.

Ha. Bet you don't.

Wouldn't he just LOVE to know the real reason why Paul was acting "strangely" around me?

Oh, yeah Jesse. Paul and I got involved in some extra-curricular activities the other night. And NOW I'm no longer a virgin. Yay! Haha, isn't that FUNNY? Jesse - Jesse? J-Jesse, please, uh, put down the gun -

Ugh.

By the time we got to the fourth floor, I was kind of curious.

'What are you showing me?' I asked again.

I shall call him . . . Mini-Me.

'It may be nothing,' Jesse said quickly. 'I just thought you'd like to . . . look around.'

'Right,' I said.

We were walking down the OPPOSITE way of the attic, so I cancelled out all chances of him offering me as a sacrifice to the Misforts.

Yeah right, Suze. God, YOU'RE effed up too.

Then again, Jesse could have teamed up with them. You know, like forming some sort of ghostly secret society or whatever, plotting the termination of all life forms with a pair of working lungs and a beating heart.

But I highly doubt that.

Jesse's footsteps stopped at a door which I assumed he'd left open slightly. The door had a plaque above it, but the name had been sandpapered off or something. I could only make out an R, a H and a E.

'This,' Jesse said, 'Was the old principal's office.'

. . . Think brain, THINK -

Oh yeah. Mr Head. Old Headmaster.

**_R_** IC **_H_** ARD H **_E_** AD.

There we go.

'Okay,' I said with a slow nod, pushing the door open and stepping inside. I looked around.

Everything was brown. No really. First off, the window had these shutters over it. Like Mr Head had preferred the dark as opposed to the light. His desk was brown, his floorboards were brown, his walls were brown . . .

I saw a door on the right. I walked over to it, but it was locked. No prob.

'There's a bedroom there,' Jesse said. 'You cannot get to it, the door is locked, I believe.'

I looked around briefly, saw this fat lead paperweight on the desk, and picked it up. It's weight had quite an effect on my arm. I walked back over to the door, and with a swing and a loud noise, the door was no longer locked.

Jesse swore in Spanish under his breath in alarm.

Wow. Tables have turned. I'm scaring the GHOST this time.

'All good,' I assured, dusting my hands off heroically but unnecessarily.

I shoved the door open. It was rusty in its movement. A smell of "old people" hit me. I didn't know why. I mean, Mr Head couldn't have been that old when he was last here. I mean, not like, Dr Slaski old, anyway. He must have been about thirty something, since he was in there in 1969, and it was 2009 now, and you know, he was like, seventy or whatever.

Maybe he'd just left a floater in the toilet.

'Eww,' I said, when the pong infiltrated my nostrils.

'It isn't pleasant,' Jesse agreed.

'That's ONE way of saying it,' I scowled. There wasn't even a WINDOW in here. God. Rude.

I groped the wall - haha, coz that was one sexy wall - for a light switch, located it, and flicked it.

. . . Uh, wow.

Well, SOMEONE lived like a freakin' KING. God, this was even BETTER than the room I was inhabiting. It too had a chandelier, and was decked with tapestries and shit all over the freaking walls. I mean, there was a PORTRAIT of Mr Head. Only he had more hair, and less wrinkles.

What a LOSER.

What was he still doing in GILROY?

I'm sorry to say but, in that portrait, he didn't look as ugly and bitter as he did now. I'm not saying that he was a hottie. God, no. Just, you know, I can see why a certain type of woman would have found him attractive. He had that nerdy/scholarly/dominant thing going on with him.

Pity he turned out to be an old bastard.

'It's grand, isn't it?' Jesse commented. It was still all brown, like his office. Brown and gold. It actually looked NICE, too. Like, really nice. Classy, and pompous.

God, I should have found this room before. Paul could have randomly materialized the pair of us HERE instead of that crappy dorm bed on the floor below.

THIS was a bed that every girl wants to lose her V's on.

Although, as aforementioned, the stench was kind of a bummer.

'Uhhh,' I said. God. Are you GOOD enough for this room, Suze? 'Okay, well, what do we do now?'

'Look around,' Jesse suggested. 'It appears that he left behind several things.'

'Like . . . ?' I said.

He pointed. 'Start with that.'

I looked over, and saw that his finger was indicating a black-and-white photo. Upon closer inspection, I identified not only a VERY young Mr Richard Head, but a very young, very pretty, and very thin Mrs Abigail Head. She was dressed in a boring business-y housewife dress, and he was in a suit. They didn't look a day older than Paul and me.

I narrowed my eyes and saw that that was DEFINITELY a ring on Mrs Head's finger. A gigantic rock, at that.

These two were married real young, jeepers.

'This is interesting,' I said. 'But . . . it doesn't really tell me anything.'

Jesse looked a little embarrassed. 'I know,' he said, 'Just . . . maybe we should look a moment longer. We might discover something of importance that would help - '

'Yeah,' I shrugged. 'Maybe.'

The rug on the floor was even brown. It was all intricate looking and stuff. It was curled up at the edge. I kicked at it. 'I can't believe an ass like HIM got a room like THIS - '

'Susannah,' Jesse said sharply.

I went still.

Now, THAT'S what I'm talking 'BOUT.

'Oooh,' I said, 'Cool.'

Seemed that I'd uncovered something.

I bent down and pulled the carpet back a little further. One of the floorboards wasn't lying right. As if it had been moved a lot. You know . . .

I pulled it back - the floorboard, not the carpet, been there DONE that - and narrowed my eyes as a plume of dust came up. I coughed.

It was really dark in the small space that allowed a hand to go into it, nothing more. 'Jesse? Can you check what's down there?'

'Of course,' he said quickly, kneeling beside me. He shoved his hand right through the floorboards, trying to feel for any objects or something.

Eww. Maybe there was a body. OoOOoOooo. Maybe THAT was the smell!

However, when Jesse pulled out a mere LETTER, I was kind of disappointed.

'Is that it?' I asked negatively.

Jesse, once again looking apologetic, mumbled a, 'I believe so.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Well, uh, letters are nice. Maybe Mr Head had a penpal. From Uranus, his home planet.'

Jesse once again plunged his arm through the wood of the floor. I mean, as a ghost he could do that. Not have the wood in the way and all, I mean. He swiped around, and then came up with ANOTHER envelope.

'Well,' I said, not that impressed, 'Two letters are better than one, I guess.'

Jesse was seriously looking abashed now. His whole lets-explore-the-Headquarters-expedition was a complete flop.

'Perhaps,' he suggested, 'You should read their contents. There may be something - '

'Yeah, of course,' I said. 'We'll go back into the office - '

Jesse suddenly stood up, looking around hurriedly. Then, his face went solemn.

'Susannah,' he said, 'I must - I - _Padre_ is calling me, I should go to - '

'Okay,' I said, 'Whatever.'

'No,' he overruled himself, 'I can't leave you - '

As much as I agreed with that, Father DOMINIC was calling. 'No,' I assured him, 'I'll be fine.'

Jesse stressed out. 'Susannah, wait outside the school grounds. I doubt I should be long,' he said. 'Come on, I'll lead you out and then I'll go - '

'But - '

'No buts,' he said.

Two, actually. Mine and yours.

'I'll be - '

He quickly put the floorboard and the rug back, ghost-style, and hurried me out of the bedroom, and then the office. Then he guided me down the hall, and down the stairs. I still had the two envelopes in my hand. I folded them and shoved them in my pocket. I'd read them outside in the car, I guess, till Jesse got back.

God, maybe I SHOULD have gone with Paul. At least I didn't have to spend my time crammed in the pathetic excuse of a car that the Diocese gave Father Dom.

Once we were outside Fortunashwein, Jesse again looked around hurriedly. 'He is calling again,' he said in a low voice. 'Stay inside _Padre's_ car, Susannah.'

This sucked. Father Dom's car didn't have cushiony leather interior like Paul's car. Which was, of course, the car I could be riding in right about now.

I whined something in irritation, but went outside the gates. The moment I did, Jesse, looking satisfied that I would be safe, dematerialized.

Well. That was weird.

Here I was.

Alone.

I was always alone.

Always would be.

Despite what Paul said.

_You're never alone. You'll never be alone._

HAHAHA. funny. VERY DAMNED FUNNY, you ASSHOLE.

Maybe for one NIGHT, I wouldn't be. But what about after that, Paul? Why are you doing this to me now?

. . . Why?

I wandered over to Father D's car, and jumped in the front seat. Maybe I could go for a drive?

Pfft. Nah.

I'd probably get myself lost or something.

I shut the door, and pushed the car seat back, before propping my feet up on the dashboard, sighing.

Fortunaschwein's weather was slightly foggy again. No where near as bad as it had been that day in the graveyard, but foggy all the same.

It wasn't as low to the ground as it was that day. It was like, hanging in the air, kind of unmoving.

Unmoving. Like a certain corpse I'd seen the day before.

With a heavy swallow, I tried to push that out of my mind.

That sight, I mean.

God, I didn't blame Jack one bit for that nightmare he'd had last night. I mean, that's the stuff that nightmares are made of, right?

Death, I mean.

Just as I was kind of starting to slip into a train of thought, I heard a car behind me.

Gah. Paul was back already.

I didn't bother with going to greet him. All I could expect from him was a stupid assurance that the fuzz had indeed though Dani had killed herself. Hey, and maybe if I stayed silent in Father Dom's car he'd walk right by, and not bother me.

I pulled my feet from the dashboard.

I heard his car door slam behind me, and his footsteps.

Weird . . . he usually walks faster than that.

However, something made my heart lurch.

I had a rear view mirror, you see.

And . . . uh . . . that wasn't Paul's car. It was much junkier than Paul's super-sleek-super-expensive black Jaguar.

Curious to see who it actually was, I sat up in my seat, looking behind me over my shoulder.

. . . No one. Huh? But I heard -

However, it seemed that the person had come to the very side of my car, and was now smirking through the window, having located me.

_Finally_.

'Miss me?'

I stopped breathing.

' . . . Cole.'

No, no, no, no, no . . . no, not NOW . . .

There he was. Cole Kennedy, in all his blond-haired, grey-eyed glory. He looked like crap. Like he hadn't slept in a very long time. His hair was a mess, he obviously hadn't shaved in ages, and his eyes were dull, and bloodshot. He even had these major dark circles under his eyes. Not like the small kind I had, which I could easily cover up with some foundation. They were really, really dark.

My stomach vanished. I physically felt it just disintegrate, leaving behind a cavity that was soon filled with a cold dread.

The window was only slightly open. If . . . if I could get the keys from my pocket, slide them in the ignition . . . then I could be out of here. Away.

However, before any of that could even hope to occur, he, uh, opened the car door.

Instantly, I freaked. I went to slam it shut - his fingers in the door and everything - but he'd grabbed the door firmly enough to prevent me from doing so.

Following that, he leaned into the car further, his body suddenly very close to mine.

I seriously couldn't breathe.

Everything that was bad looked like peanuts, in relation to who was standing right there.

'You don't look very happy to see me, Suze,' he said. 'Why not? A lot of effort went into finding you . . . '

'Get the hell away from me,' I warned in something that couldn't constitute as a voice.

Again, I went to shove my hand in my pocket to retrieve Father Dom's keys, but he saw my movement and with one twice as fast as my own had been, he seized my wrist, and with his OTHER hand, shoved HIS hand in my pocket. Which, I may have failed to mention, was the back pocket.

This full-on pathetic whimper slipped out of me at the contact, and with a jangle of finality, he'd gotten the keys, and he'd thrown them. I didn't know where. I barely heard them land, so they were obviously no where close . . .

That, I believe, was when I started shaking, and couldn't stop.

'Come on, Suze,' he said, 'Don't be like that . . . come on, get out of the car. We're going home.'

His voice was so raspy, just like I remembered it. I couldn't BELIEVE that I'd found that attractive once. That was BEFORE I'd heard that voice at full volume in my ears, calling me horrible things.

'No,' I said, 'We're not. WE aren't going ANYWHERE. There is no "we" here.'

I don't think he really liked that very much.

You see, because, his face sort of contorted there, and two arms quickly came at me, clamping two hands around my shoulders, and yanking me out of the car. I started trying to push him away, but he shoved me VERY hard against the side of the car, and pressed up against me. No, right up.

God, Suze, breathe - please, just breathe -

Funny how Jesse was worried what would try to hurt me inside the school.

He didn't spare a thought to what might try to hurt me from outside.

'I knew you'd be this way,' he laughed angrily. No really. It was like he couldn't decide whether he was angry or humored. Which lead me to believe that he was even sicker in the head than last time. His fingers were digging into the skin of my shoulders.

I went very still, feeling him breathe in my ear. Oh God, oh God . . .

'So, what are you doing _here_?' he asked, as if we'd slipped into conversation mode.

'W-working,' I managed. 'I-I work here.'

He laughed. 'As what? _Crack whore_?' His laugh made me shiver even more.

Every possibility of being confident and vengeful and angry slipped away grotesquely, like blood trickling down a window. I was not myself with Cole. I was not myself BECAUSE of Cole.

I sucked in a breath, and turned my head away. His fingers came and twisted my face so that I was looking at him again. His hands were so _rough_ . . .

They then pushed my hair back behind my ears, and slid down my arms slowly.

'Cole,' I tried to scare him, 'I work with people here . . . they – they know about you – '

'What's there to know?' he asked, his hands continuing down to my hips, where they stretched out to their full handspan. I felt his fingers pressed into my skin again. I was still trapped between him and Father Dominic's car, and I was scared out of my mind.

Because if he got me in his car, I knew that that was it. I was a goner.

'That – ' my voice was thin, 'that you're . . . not very nice . . .'

His voice dipped very low. 'They don't know the half of it then, do they?' he murmured with a smile.

He leaned his face in even more. His nose was almost touching mine. His breath was hot. And he hadn't brushed his teeth in a while. 'Suze,' he said reproachfully, 'I come all this way for you, and you don't even appreciate it? You're out here having fun, getting in the newspaper with that supermodel, Danielle-something, and you just _left_ me. I don't think you _get_ it, Suze. I _need_ you. I'll die without you . . . you need me too. You love me, you're just being stubborn – '

The NEWSPAPER? My GOD. THAT'S how he found out I was here? God, I'm going to KILL that Steve Lawson guy. Who the HELL TAKES PHOTOS OF INNOCENT PEOPLE AND PUTS THEM IN NEWSPAPERS? I mean, Dani's one thing. But I WAS ACTUALLY HIDING FROM SOMEONE. I get that DANI was a BITCH to that STEVE guy from MCDONALDS, and so YEAH, SHE GOT IN A NEWSPAPER BECAUSE SHE'S FAMOUS.

But did said newspaper care that I was trying to run away from a certain GUY who wanted pretty much only ONE thing from me, and was going to HURT me if he didn't get it?

NO. THEY DIDN'T CARE.

'For the last frigging _time_,' I spat, 'I do _not love you_, okay? Cole, you're – you need help. You're being _obsessive_ over this. We had a thing, and I ended it – ' because you tried to – and I didn't want to so you went and got your kicks from someone ELSE'S ass – and that was that. I don't love you, you don't love me, now can you PLEASE get your hands off of me? Because this is just – '

I don't think he liked THAT very much, either.

His hands left my hips, all right. But they came right back up to my shoulders, which they grabbed firmly. Then, he yanked me forward and right back up against the side of the car. I almost peed myself. No, I know it's gross, but – it was just sudden and I was scared and he hurt me –

'LIAR,' he yelled in my face, 'You keep SAYING that, but you're LYING – '

'I've said it enough; you think it would have sunk in by now!' I shouted right back at him. 'Cole, I swear to GOD, if you don't get your hands OFF of me, you are going to be so sorry – '

I knew the one thing he wanted.

Sex.

It's what a guy like him would want. It's what a guy like him always got. I mean, he was hot. He was a player. He's the type to call up a prostitute for a night, to have a good time. He's not the type to be rejected.

He made an effort with me. We went out for _three months_, and when he did try, and I said no, he went crazy.

After that, I kept saying no. I said no all together, and broke up with him. He went and got laid elsewhere, but – but that still didn't change the fact that I'd gotten away.

Whenever he saw me after that, he hurt me. He'd get me alone, and he'd try to . . . but I wouldn't let h - and he'd always hurt me.

But now, so long after that, he was insane . . . I didn't know why. I mean, obsessive about sex? Yeah. Though I had no idea that that could make someone so VIOLENT. I mean, God, I'm seriously not worth someone's sanity. I'm not. But he wasn't only obsessed with _it_ anymore. He was obsessed with _me_. Because I was probably the only person to refuse him and it made him nuts.

Sick.

_What you can't have, you can't resist._

I dunno. I think that was one of the teaser lines for a movie I saw a long time ago.

((A/N: Lolly – if you know which one, shut up, hahaha . . . I just watched it.))

Knowing that didn't make his dusty eyes any warmer. It sure didn't make the hold he had on my shoulders any gentler. If anything, it made me more terrified, because even though I didn't know how truly psycho he was, if he had enough resolve to come out here, then he sure as hell had a good reason for it, and I doubted that he'd give up easily after what he'd obviously been through to find me here.

It was devastating.

'If you don't get in my _fucking _car,' he threatened, his mouth against my ear and his body crushing mine, '_You're_ going to be sorry.'

A crescendo of fear made me snap. I rammed him backwards, and with that, I ran so damn fast, away from him. I was back in the school grounds, running up the stairs – at the door . . .

I looked back. He was so close behind me that for the second time, my bladder almost died. My stomach was dead, and I felt sick with the fright that had stricken me.

God . . . I couldn't BELIEVE this . . . after EVERYTHING that had HAPPENED, how could Cole have the NERVE to show up? Dani, the Misforts, PAUL, Jesse, Father DOMINIC – it wasn't – this was HAPPENING, I mean, how could it be? It's just not believable. This many things can't happen to someone in sequence. It wasn't –

It was.

Welcome to my life.

I made it through the front door, tearing up the stairs. There were too many rooms in this school . . . he'd _never_ find me.

Well, at least he wouldn't if I'd actually gotten a decent head start. Unfortunately, he was merely only about twenty feet behind me.

Once on the second floor, I sped at lightning speed down the dark hall, and then dived into the first room that had an open door. I shut it behind me, and saw that it was just a dormitory room.

WITH A WARDROBE.

I ran in there, I yanked the door closed, and then attempted to slow my breathing.

Don't panic . . . it's a huge school . . . he won't find you . . . you'll always be able to hide, Suze.

It's a huge WORLD, but he managed to locate you in little GILROY. I think he can manage to find you in an armoire, you LOSER.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, and jammed my eyes shut. My heart was going so fast it didn't seem human. I could hear my blood echoing in my ears. Every pounding of it through my veins was painful and thunderous. There was a pressure in my head that made me want to scream, and cry, and run till he couldn't chase me anymore.

But I was stuck, waiting for him to not find me . . .

I could hear his voice calling me. Coaxing me. Cajoling me. Convincing me that if I came out, I'd be fiiiiiiiine.

Uh, beg to DIFFER?

When I heard a bang, I knew he'd kicked the door open. It was all I could do not to gasp, or breathe any harder than I already was.

I could only see him through the crack that was left in the wardrobe doors. He'd flashed across it, his hands in the pockets of his khaki Chinos. From afar, he looked harmless. But I knew better.

He walked out of my crack-y vision, and I bit on my finger to stop any noises.

Excuse ME if I was expecting him to come right up to the wardrobe crack and be all, _" 'Ello, poppit . . . _"

Good GOD.

'So Suze,' he said boredly, 'You like games? What is this, hide and seek now? Isn't that what we've been playing for several _months_?'

On the word "months" I heard another crash – a collision of his foot, and something wooden.

Then after that, nothing.

For a moment, I thought he was gone. For that terrifying moment, I thought, with a fleeting hope and relief, that he'd left the room. I mean, there was complete silence and all.

But when the doors of the wardrobe were yanked open, said hope was murdered ruthlessly.

'Game's over,' he smirked. 'I win.'

Once again his hands closed over my upper arms as he pulled me out of the stupid wardrobe, before kicking it closed and shoving me against it, hard.

'All this is your fault,' he assured me, 'If you hadn't run away . . . if you didn't keep saying that you didn't love me, Suze, when I know you do . . . if you didn't keep saying no to me . . . '

'You son of a – '

He pushed me to the ground, and I fell down along with the weight of my returned fear. I was back where I'd started. This whole run-away-back-to-Carmel-and-get-a-job thing had been all for nothing. Nothing had changed. I'd been kidding myself, telling myself that I was stronger now, and that I could face him if he ever showed up again.

But I was so, so wrong.

I was nothing.

And he was just reinforcing that, you know? Making sure I reeeeeeeally grasped the concept.

'Get up,' he spat. 'You bitch. We're leaving now. It's home time.'

'No - ' I looked up at him with such acid, that even I felt the sting, 'If you think I'm going ANYWHERE with a loser like you, you are more screwed up than I thought - '

He kicked me.

No, he really did. In the stomach. Like, not gently or anything.

Yeah, Cole? Obviously quite the athlete. Probably on the soccer team.

A twisted yelp of pain wheezed out of me.

_And this was the true Susannah Simon._

A coward. A whore. A pathetic loser. Someone so helpless that she couldn't even build up the courage to even TRY to run . . .

I didn't cry though.

That was probably the only thing I was proud of then. I didn't cry.

Again, he pulled me up, dragged me so I was right in front of his face. 'Who's the loser now, Suze?'

And this was a guy who thought I loved him. My God . . .

He really badly needed psychiatric attention. No, serious. He was . . . unstable. Really.

Shaking violently, I bit back my reply.

I couldn't honestly believe that I had deluded myself to think that things would be better just because I was away from him.

I knew that he'd find me. I just didn't WANT to know.

And all of a sudden, I was really regretting not taking Paul's advice and reporting him. Because Cole was in the state of mind to cause a girl like me some serious damage.

He was right. He was so right.

I was the loser.

I was always the loser. I lost everything. I lost to Paul . . . I lost to Cole. I lost my purity, I lost my dignity, I lost my self-reliance, and I would keep on losing myself till there was nothing left of me worth losing.

Cole would keep tearing pieces away from me that he could never give back.

Just like Paul had.

Come on, Suze . . . just get AWAY from him . . . just TRY . . . remember when you fought Paul that time? What did you do? You were all with the kicking, Simon. The punching. The winning. Defending yourself. You were scared of him, but still, you could have WON that fight.

. . . Paul was going easy on me though -

GOD DAMN IT, SIMON, FIGHT.

I had to stop running. I had to start facing.

No more flight.

. . . Fight.

And so, with all the fury and energy I could summon, I punched him as hard as I could to his jaw.

'WHAT THE F - '

He hadn't been expecting that. He thought his bitch was useless?

His bitch was stronger than she frigging LOOKED.

I twisted around, stamped hard on his foot, and elbowed him hard in his stomach. Then I shoved him away, and -

OKAY, SO THE FIGHT THING HAD GONE WELL. NOW IT WAS TIME FOR FLIGHT, OKAY?

That kung-fu-wannabe-ness had bought me time. A little, but hopefully enough -

I tore out of that room like my ass was on fire. Come on, go outside, find the keys he threw, get in the car, drive away . . . get help, find Paul - just for now, RUN . . .

However, I made it almost to the stairs, when I made the mistake of looking back.

. . . Seeing Cole at the doorway of the room I'd just fled from.

Well, that was okay. I mean, if I kept running, I'd DEFINITELY have a kick ass head start, and as long as The Finding of The Keys went well, I'd be out of harms way.

That is, of course, unless, due to looking back over your shoulder, you are not looking ahead enough to realize that you had just run into the hands of a REAL murderer.

Aka, Robin Lawrence.

'Well, well,' he grinned down at me, his arms suddenly going taut around me as I tried to dodge him, 'Looks like Susie's in a bit of trouble.'

Oh, no . . . no way, they would NOT ruin this -

'Please,' I said quickly, 'You have no idea what you're doing - that guy's - please, don't - '

Come on . . . just a TINY moment of ghostly alliance would ROCK this establishment.

Please, Robin. Please, oh God, please, let me keep running . . . stop him from following me . . . please, help me . . . please -

'Let me go - ' I freaked, flipping madly in his arms, but they only constricted tighter as he laughed. Malice.

Cole had caught up, by then.

At which point, Robin pushed me back, right into a very intrigued Cole.

'NO!' I yelled at him, 'I can't BELIEVE you - you - you SUCK - '

Cole spun me around harshly. 'What the fuck are you on, Suze?'

'Get AWAY from me - ' my voice was still high pitched.

'Hopefully this'll be an effective way of getting you out of our school,' Robin called after me. 'Goodbye, Susie.'

I couldn't believe that someone could be so perfectly cruel. There I was, in the presence of an insane psychopath, and a sadistic sociopath. I mean, Cole was sick in the head. But Robin knew exactly what he'd just done, and exactly what his action was probably going to lead to.

Suddenly, it wasn't just Cole that was going to insure that I left this school with him.

Three quarters of the Misforts were, too.

Cole's arms wrapped around me, and he proceeded to try and DRAG me along - I am so serious - but with a quick twist of my head to the right, I saw a bedroom, with a window. I mean, okay yeah, almost all of the rooms had windows, but this one was one I was going to BREAK and I was going to get OUT of. Because it was only second floor. I mean, I've jumped from many stories into a pool before.

. . . Marcus Beaumont, whacked real estate agent. Sixteen years old, fire in building.

Go figure.

Two stories was NOT far.

Considering.

I bolted to said window, and with a panic that was like an entity in itself, I tried desperately to pull it open. Or smash it ala shifter power.

. . . But I couldn't.

'Open, OPEN damn it!' I begged the glass in front of me, but I don't think that windows are infamous for their responses to terrified girls who are trying to flee their attackers.

I didn't even have anything to break the window with. I mean, ever since I found myself competing with the ever-fashionable Dani Moore, I hadn't bothered pulling out my stilettos or my sassy black boots. And even after she died- no, was MURDERED- I couldn't bring myself to wear them.

I have no foresight whatsoever. I'm a complete and total failure.

The door slamming behind me indicated that I'd failed, miserably.

And that there was nothing left to do.

In a gaunt, mind-crushing horror, I turned slowly. Reasoning was wasted on him. Ditto logic, ditto pleading. Violence was useless against him, ditto crying, ditto insulting.

And he just _hated_ it when I denied loving him.

Even when I knew so thoroughly that I didn't. How could I love a monster like THAT?

You just DON'T. Not after he's hurt you that much.

Physically, I mean. Well, Cole had done more damage to me mentally and emotionally, but that's a layer of me that needs no discussion. Right now, I was more worried about my physical self.

Because that door wasn't going to open anytime soon.

My horror was etched deeper into my veins when I saw that his eyes weren't on me, but on the bed beside me. There was a dark, cold suggestion in his gaze. A tiny disbelieving kind of smirk twisted his lips upward, and his eyes narrowed. It was as if he'd been waiting a while for this moment.

. . . No, no, no, no WAY.

I wasn't even hiding this time. What was the point? He'd find me. He'd searched the country for me. He'd always find me. Fears are meant to be faced, not fled from.

I wish that there was an exception to that rule that would allow a tiny loophole, in the circumstance of the "fear" being Cole Kennedy.

I mean, I wasn't facing him, now. I was giving up. This was it. I couldn't run anymore. I was stuck.

'I've missed you so much, Suze,' he said, in a tone that no longer held that murderous quality. SEE? He's BI-POLAR! His mood had once again changed. He wasn't right. I mean, it doesn't take a psyche major to see that.

But he was REALLY wrong.

His gaze was still on the bed that I was next to. He was leering at it, looking with a dark appeal in his eyes. I knew what was in store for me on that bed, but I didn't want it to be true. I didn't want this to be real.

Suze, please, PLEASE stop shaking . . .

'Don't you even _THINK about it_ . . .' I spat at him, paralyzed with disgust and dread.

'I can't help it,' he shrugged. He took a small step forward. 'It's all I've been thinking about. Since you left . . . '

"It."

WHY did all the guys call it "it"? Why can't they just say the damn word, and give it it's proper name? Let's all say "it" together, folks-

Sex. One more time, for the kiddies at home…SEX.

He went on, tossing his head in order to get the stray, dirty blond strands out of his eyes, 'I've missed your touch, Suze. The way you used to kiss. The way you used to sigh when I kissed y – '

'Shut UP!' I screamed shrilly at him, 'Just STOP it! None of that means anything, because you BLEW it – '

He moved closer again, menacingly. Like a cheetah after a gazelle or something. No matter how fast you are, you can't run from a cheetah. 'Don't tell me to shut up, you bitch,' he growled.

'I'm NOT a b – ' I proclaimed, stamping my foot, but he completely closed the distance between the pair of us, and again went with the grabbing-of-Susie, shaking me up. Then, intrusively, he kissed me, hard.

It was disgusting. I mean, Cole's kiss used to have its appeal. Now it was gross and felt more like acid. It was like he was biting me. Or trying to.

I felt like a prisoner of war or something. Shackled and then tortured. And Cole was committing the grossest war crime ever.

I kind of collapsed into myself in my efforts to keep myself together. Don't cry, don't yell, stop shaking, run away, stop him before he does what you know he wants to do –

He started laughing. 'Stop fighting, baby . . . or I'll get mad.' I could hear and feel the threat in his voice. 'This can be as easy as you make it . . . '

With that, he promptly fell on top of me on the bed.

And I freaked.

'DON'T!' I screamed, 'Cole, PLEASE, don't – '

'You're making it worse for yourself, Suze – ' his face floated above mine, with a deadly smirk on his face. His eyes were flashing with sexual intention, and once again, I couldn't find the courage to defend myself.

So instead, I spat up at him.

It worked pretty well. I mean, gravitationally, it did. It didn't come falling back on my face. It completely stuck to the bit of skin just next to the bridge of his nose.

Methodically . . . it was kind of a no-no.

He looked shocked that I'd dared to pelt my saliva at him. Then, his face twisted. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and sat up a little. 'You _dirty slut_,' he chided.

And then, with the power of every single one of my phobias, I saw his hand go up.

Unlike Paul's that day . . . it did not stop.

My face seared with a scorching violence. After so long, I'd hoped to forget what Cole's brutal hand on my felt like. But with a rush of the screaming dead, I'd suddenly been reminded.

YAY.

A piercing, sharp, short shriek escaped me.

He covered my mouth furiously.

'The only screaming I want to hear from you is you screaming for more.'

My eyes widened. I was looking upon the face of fear. I had the nerve to spit on evil's nose. Sex was floating in the atmosphere, welcoming death as the next guest of this horrible, frightening reunion.

No, no, no . . . this was so wrong . . .

I kept trying to shove him away. Constantly. He kept blocking me, and pushing me back down. My breath was going a million miles an hour from the energy exertion. His hand was on my mouth. I was practically bucking for him to get off of me, which may have looked very odd to anyone watching. But I was that desperate to throw him off.

In complete fear and desperation, I bit his hand.

'OW!' he barked, withdrawing his hand hastily.

I could taste his blood. It was almost acidic, and most definitely cold. I spat it back out once it penetrated my mouth.

I took that opportunity to scream long and loud. Please, SOMEONE be back . . . Paul! HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO LOOK AT AN AUTOPSY REPORT? God, PLEASE . . .

I had a terrible feeling I would never find out. Chances were that my body would, though.

'Hey!' Cole hissed, as abuse number two for today fell hard on my cheek. I recoiled sharply, shuddering from the painful fear, and the desperate denial that this wasn't actually happening. 'What did I say about screaming, Suze?

His hands held my shoulders down. 'See, Suze?' he went on. 'This is exactly what I mean. You always do things wrong. And then you have the nerve to blame me. Like saying that I don't MEAN anything. It's hurtful, you know? I think you're being kind of selfish - '

'You are KIDDING me,' I said in stricken incredulity. WHERE DID HE GET OFF? 'You know what ELSE is hurtful? When you start hitting m – '

'I'm not hitting you anymore, am I?' he hissed.

For a moment, I almost let out a sigh of relief.

However, when his hands came to the belt buckle of my jeans and started hastily undoing them, I froze up entirely . . .

'NO!' I freaked, 'DON'T YOU DARE. DON'T YOU - '

'Stop SCREAMING!' he yelled at me, 'God!'

'GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!'

However, with my jeans still on, he shoved his hand against - uhhhh . . . I don't really want to say.

I seized up, and screwed up my face. This definitely wasn't feeling good, coming from Cole. I felt violated, scared, rung-out, and worst of all hurt.

'That shut you up,' he commented callously. He started moving his hand . . . um - his palm against -

YOU KNOW WHAT? IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.

Suffice it to say I was scared, scared, so damn scared . . . I stopped trying to call for help. I just kept shaking helplessly.

I couldn't move. My mind stopped thinking. He was - this was really bad. He was touching me. And this was only the BEGINNING of how far I knew he'd go.

All that was going through my mind there was, Thank GOD I'm not wearing a skirt.

He leant down, still . . . doing that . . . and he kissed me roughly. I so did not respond. I mean, you just DON'T. It's impossible to reciprocate someone's kiss when they are doing this to you and you don't want them to be doing it.

His hand pressed harder against the fabric of my jeans, on that spot where hands REALLY should not be, and I sucked in a breathy sob. This was so, so bad . . .

And in the grand scheme of things, it WAS my fault.

The life-thieving dread that was rendering me completely powerless escalated to a point where again, I just couldn't breathe. The confusion of unwanted pleasure was killing me. I mean, there's such a thing as feeling bad in a good way?

Well, this felt good in a BAD way. Because he should not have been doing that. It was like he was unwrapping a present that was not meant for him. I don't know exactly WHO it belonged to at the moment, but I did know that he was ripping through and carelessly flinging the shredded paper aside.

The shredded paper being me. My life. My tortured being.

I was scared out of my wits, because I knew what he wanted to do now.

However, it was when his fingers began to dip down the sides of my pants in an effort to pull them down, that I completely lost all control of my emotions.

And with a blaze of radiant blue, he was thrown against the wall brutally, bashing his head.

He landed hard on the floor, groaning and swearing under his breath.

. . . I did that. Despite the current threat, I was truly proud of myself for once.

With an almost tearful relief, I made my shaking hands do up my jeans. Hopefully that whole throwing-him-off-shifter-style thing would give me time - ?

However, it wasn't as effective as I had desired. He scrambled over, and yanked my ankle so I fell to the floor. A look of bloodlust shimmered in his eyes.

I guess that had only made him angrier.

'I don't know how the hell you - ' he began, but concluding that it was obviously my fault that he'd been propelled seven feet across the room - how he came to THAT conclusion without knowing what I was was beyond me - I received a blow to the side of my head that almost knocked me out completely.

I was wavering dangerously over the borderline of consciousness. Things suddenly slid in and out of focus, and went completely blurry as outlines kept blending with each other.

He was saying something to me, but I could no longer hear him properly. My head fell back, making me believe that I was no longer lying on the floor.

'We'll continue that later,' he promised me, his voice disturbingly close to my ear. The side of my head was soaring with pain. It was almost funny. I mean . . . how can something hurt like that?

No, really? Pain's so weird. It strikes in all ways. Physical, psychological, emotional . . . it leaves so many scars, and it aches so badly sometimes that death seems like an easy way out.

With what seemed like a blink, I knew that he'd made it outside. I could hear the wind, and the few birds that dared to sing on the Fortunaschweinian grounds. I kept bumping my head hard against Cole's shoulder as he walked. Not only had the punch taken everything out of me, but the shifter thing had too.

I searched inside my soul for something, anything left that would help me to fight back. I knew there was something still deep inside of me. Hope, maybe. Something, anything that could save me from this.

Just a tiny scrape of that power. That was all I needed. Anything, please . . . it had to be hiding somewhere. I couldn't just run out. I mean, there was no oppression of astral block. It was up to me if I wanted that power badly enough. I had to gather the effort to find, and employ it . . .

Suze, come on. This is your last chance. After this . . . you're done for. Simon, PLEASE.

I kept trying . . . one little spasm of power . . . that was all I -

I found it, and tapped into it.

And with that, I was suddenly lying in the dirt. I stayed like that for several seconds, before I rolled over on my back, and looked to the side blearily. Cole was slumped against his car. He wasn't conscious.

With a tiny smile, I closed my eyes again.

I did it . . .

For the first time . . . I finally saved myself from him.

I was still lying on the dusty ground when a car pulled up. For a zany second, I hoped that maybe I was still sitting in Father Dom's car, and that if it WAS Cole, I'd have the foresight to drive away immediately.

I heard the car door slam. However, this time, I knew it wasn't bringing any harm. I mean, it couldn't get WORSE than Cole.

This was the first time that I didn't jinx myself.

I cracked my eyes open again, and I saw Paul suddenly lean over me. 'Suze,' he said in panic. 'Suze? Can you hear me?'

'Hmm,' I nodded slowly.

'What happened?' he demanded. 'Where the HELL is de Silva? I'm gonna - '

You can't kill him. He's dead.

I shook my head, and closed my eyes again. 'It's not his fault. It wasn't the Misfortunates - '

'What do you MEAN, it wasn't his fault? I told him to WATCH YOU - ' I could hear anger intensifying in his voice, and it REALLY wasn't appreciated because my head was already on the verge of breaking.

'Shhhh,' I shushed.

He stopped, and helped me sit up. I didn't know why, but immediately, I slid my arms around his neck and hugged myself right against him. I started shaking again.

I'm so pathetic.

But . . . I still did it. On my own. I beat Cole Kennedy. I was able to overcome one of my biggest fears

'Suze,' Paul said more urgently, 'Please tell me what's going on.'

'Cole,' I said. 'He's behind you.'

Paul tensed, and twisted his head. Then he went very, very silent.

'Paul,' I said suddenly, 'Don't . . . don't do anything stupid, please, he's already - '

'What did he do?' Paul looked back at me. In his eyes, I saw a fire that made the iciness melt away like nothing. 'God, if he t - '

'He tried,' I said quickly, 'He didn't - '

Paul made an effort to move, but I held onto him, 'Paul, please - '

'I'll kill him,' he guaranteed.

Not a moment too late, Cole stirred, and started swearing quietly again, holding his head. Then he looked up, saw me in Paul's arms, and his eyes narrowed.

'Who the HELL is THAT, Suze?' he demanded fiercely. 'He was in that damned newspaper with you. Are you - '

Paul stood up quickly, and moved in front of me. 'So you're Cole Kennedy,' he said slowly. His voice was just plain deadly.

I edged back, till I was near Father Dominic's car. My hands landed on something cold and metal - the keys. I stuffed them back in my pocket, and with a head heavier than Earth, I leant against the car as I stood up.

'Suze, we're leaving,' he said, ignoring Paul. He gave him a wary look, but peered around at me.

'I don't think you realize,' Paul drawled, 'I am well aware of the situation between Ms. Simon and yourself. And she has made it perfectly clear to me that she does not want to go anywhere with you.'

Cole's gaze flickered between Paul and me. 'You're fucking him, aren't you?' he snapped at me. 'You stupid wh - '

And the first punch flew.

I flinched as Paul's fist smashed against Cole's nose. Paul, of course, had the upper hand. He was a lot quicker, a lot stronger, and did not have a possible concussion. Of course, Cole went psycho. He started trying to beat the crap out of Paul, too.

Although, as I said, Paul wasn't a wimp like me, when faced with Cole Kennedy.

But this was not cool.

Paul caught him in a hard punch to the stomach. Cole groaned, shoved Paul back, and then bashed his shoulder against him. Paul stumbled, and Cole landed on top of him, and started punching him. Paul kneed him, rolled them over, and started punching HIM.

The thing was . . . Cole may have been kind of insane while he was angry. But Paul was angry in his RIGHT mind. Which, you know, served to be a lot more effective in this situation.

'DONT - YOU - GO - NEAR - HER - AGAIN,' Paul pounded on his face with each word. He grabbed Cole's collar, and yanked him up, before slamming him back on the ground. Cole's hands shot up around Paul's neck, with his fingers digging into his skin.

My hands were getting slick with sweat, they were pressed so hard against the metal exterior of Father D's car. I felt too weak to help, too angry to run away.

'She's not the first one, is she?' Paul spat at him. 'I read up on you. You've been tried for harassment before. You got off. Well, KENNEDY, you're sure as hell not GETTING OFF this time. Because you've PISSED ME OFF, and I'm not going to stop until you're where you belong. In jail. Or in a bodybag, whichever comes first - '

'You can HAVE the little slut,' Cole retorted, pushing at Paul in a violent fury.

That earned him - Cole, I mean - a very, VERY livid punch from Paul.

'Get off of me, you fucker!' Cole yelled.

'That's what I keep asking you,' I contributed, 'But you didn't listen.'

'Oh, shut UP Suze!' he snapped rudely.

Paul got off of him, and, dragging him up by the scruff of his shirt again, he slammed him against the black piping of the gate behind. Paul started saying things to Cole under his breath that I couldn't hear. They were both infuriating him, and making a look of alarm come to his face.

I couldn't understand what Paul was telling him.

'I didn't, I swear - ' Cole spluttered suddenly, but Paul shoved him back again, 'SHE SAID YOU DID. SHE WAS ALMOST UNCONSCIOUS WHEN I FOUND HER. Now I'll ask AGAIN, DID YOU HIT HER?'

'Okay!' Cole glared in both hate and panic.

'What else?' Paul roared in his face.

'Paul, stop it,' I said hysterically, 'It doesn't matter - '

'Did you touch her?'

'N - '

Paul, AGAIN, jerked him forward and then back, hard, against the bars. 'Ow-ow-ow-ow! YES, all right? But she was asking f - '

Paul laughed coldly, sucker-punched him in the stomach, and dragged him away from the gate.

'You fucking jack ass,' Paul said. 'Suze? Do you remember asking for anything from him?'

I shook my head quickly. The only thing I asked was for Cole to get out of my life. For good. And I think that this wish was coming true, right before my eyes.

'My point exactly,' Paul said. He pulled out his phone, and dialed three numbers. He spoke swiftly into the receiver, and then clicked it shut.

'Call the cops on me?' Cole laughed angrily, 'That won't make a difference. You can't prove anything.'

Paul's glower went a million and one shades darker. 'Listen, you bastard. By the time I'm through with you you're going to regret the day you SAW Suze. Courts take attempted rape and assault VERY seriously, in case you didn't remember that when you were smacking her face.'

Cole blanched. Then he turned his face back towards me. 'You stupid ho . . . who the HELL do you think you are, telling HIM-'

'She's worth more than everything you own times 100,' Paul yanked his head back brusquely, making a stream of colourful words spill from Cole's lips. 'But then again, I doubt that's saying much,' Paul regarded Cole's appearance in disgust. 'You're not even CLOSE to being good enough for her.'

I went a horrible red color. I had never felt so valuable in my life. I felt like a prize, a privilege. Maybe even an honor.

'And you are?' Cole laughed derisively.

Paul didn't respond.

Cole made another attempt to flip away from Paul, but said intern had a very firm grip on the back of his neck.

'Stay still or I'll brake it,' Paul menaced.

Um . . . okay. Protective, isn't he?

Within a few minutes, I heard a siren, and four police cars pulled into the gravel driveway. About eight cops filed out and pointed guns at Paul.

'No,' I said quickly, 'Not him - '

Cole was white. As he was guided abruptly to one of the cars, he shot me a look of hateful rage. I almost broke down crying.

But I didn't. I was a hell of a lot stronger than that. If I could defeat Cole, I could do anything.

Paul came to my side, and slid his arms around me. 'It's okay,' he rubbed my back soothingly. 'He's not going to hurt you anymore.'

_So I stick you for one night and suddenly you love me . . . ?_

I remembered what he'd said the day before. But it didn't matter, then. Not now. Right now, his hold felt too comforting to care.

Even if this was sympathy because I'd just gotten practically attacked by a sexual predator, (eww . . . ) I didn't care.

I sighed, and hugged him back, my face in his chest. 'I'm sorry,' I said.

'Why are you saying sorry?' he pulled away.

'Because it's my fault - '

'It is NOT your fault,' he stressed. 'Okay? It's HIM. It's not you. You have nothing be sorry for, Suze.'

Vaguely, I nodded. 'Oh,' I said.

'Are you ready, then?' Paul asked.

I blinked quickly. 'What?'

'To make a statement,' he told me. 'Press charges. His arrest is meaningless unless they have a reason to arrest him.'

Statement . . . ?

'No - '

'Don't be scared of him, Suze.'

'I'm not,' I said.

'Liar,' Paul smiled in a fond, yet sad way. 'But God help us all if Susannah Simon admits that she's human.'

I closed my eyes again. His hands were gentle on my arms. Not rough, and aggressive like Cole's. They didn't want to hurt me. They wanted to save me.

He had saved me.

. . . And I'd saved myself, too. And I had an opportunity to make sure this never happened ever again. Not to me, or any other girl Cole would encounter in the future. I was saving lives, too.

Which was majorly cool.

'Okay,' I breathed.

The police guy - one of the ones that had been there after Dani's death, raised his eyebrow at me and Paul. 'Coming?' he queried.

'Yeah,' Paul nodded officially. 'Come on, Suze.'

- 8 -


	27. One Kiss

**Dear readers of Flashlight.**

Me and Hayley love you.

Hahaha . . . well, here we have it, Cole's finally put to justice. And this chapter has a few little twists that me and Hayles didn't plan either. Muahaha.

Poor Jesse. 

Love Lolly (and Hayley who is sick.)

PrettyFeet . . . you really don't have much faith in us, do you?

And Ocean Blue Sky? Me and Hayley thank you for probably the most awesome review we've ever received.

- 8 -

No matter how much preparation you're given before taking the plunge, making an official police statement really is no joke. In fact, it was probably one of the hardest things I'd ever done in my life.

First off they had to send me off to some small clinic to get me all checked out before they had me write my statement. The officer, one of the same ones that was there for Dani's death, assured me that this was standard procedure for victims of sexual assault.

The doctor checked me out. I was fine, except for some bruises, which the doctor said would go away in a week or two. Only, I knew they'd be gone in a matter of days, maybe less, because shifting was also commonly associated with quick healing. But they didn't know that.

I sat on the examination table afterwards, looking around boredly at all the diagrams on the wall of the nervous system, the structure of the human body, and some poster that instructed you how to avoid germs.

Paul was there with me the whole time, except during the examination when they made him wait in the waiting room. It was just as well. The gown they had me in was one of those ugly blue ones with only two strings in the back, which only kept it semi-closed. And it was, like, three sizes too big so it sagged off my shoulder. I had to keep tugging at it to keep it on.

It was kind of weird. They kept poking me and prodding me. They touched my bruises, and asked if they hurt. I had some reflex tests, too. I felt like a science fair project or something.

But it was all over now. Well, sort of.

There was a knock at the door. It was the police officer, Officer Jones, that came in and asked, 'Miss Simon? May I come in?'

'Well I'm, uh, not really dressed yet,' I replied, sort of wrapping the gown as tightly as I could around me.

'That's all right, ma'am. I'll wait until you're ready.'

I put on my clothes, which the nurse had folded up nicely for me and stuck in the corner of the room. I called for him to come in when I was done.

The officer got straight to business when he came in.

'Now, as an American, Miss Simon, you have a right to draw up an official statement against Mr. Kennedy, if you so choose. You don't have to, but it would sure help get him where he belongs,' Officer Jones said. 'No pressure or nothing.'

Yeah, no pressure, all right. On one hand, I could put Cole in jail for good. But then, what if he got out on probation or, God forbid good behavior? What would keep him from attacking me again? Or any other poor girl he got an obsession with?

'I don't really know what to say,' I replied, looking off distractedly at one of the medical posters. 'I mean, I've never done a statement before. I'm not even sure how they work.'

Officer Jones took off his hat and took a step closer. 'It's all right. It's your decision whether or not you want to go ahead and make a statement or not. I just want you to know, ma'am, that you have the right to have a voice. You can stop this guy. All we need is your word. Your story.'

All I truly wanted was to stop Cole from ever doing this again. To me, or to any other woman. But I was still a little unsure of myself. I'm not necessarily a great storyteller or anything. What if it came out all wrong?

But in the end I said I'd do it. Under certain conditions, of course.

'Can I bring someone with me? Like, you know, for support?' I asked.

'Yes, you are entitled to have one support person in the interview,' the officer answered. 'You can even have a lawyer present, if you wish.'

Wow. I'm killing two birds with one stone, here. Because guess who I wanted to come with me?

You got it. Paul.

I figured not only would he know what was going on, but I also felt comforted knowing that he'd be there.

'All right,' I said, with more confidence than ever. 'I'll do it.'

8 –

_Making a Statement to the Police:_

_The statement you are about to make is an important part of the process of justice. The police will use it to determine whether a crime was committed, if conviction is likely, and what measures to take in order to prevent further crimes. _

_Your statement may also be a part of the evidence presented in court by the defense and/or the prosecution. You may also, at one point, be called as a witness in court._

_Remember that your statement is very important to the police, for they are trying to collect as much evidence of a possible crime that they can. The police, in no way, have any intentions of being obstructive to you._

_You may make your statement whenever you are ready. If you decide now is not the time, you may come in later. However, it may be wise to do it now for the sake of remembrance._

But you don't have to, essentially. That's what they're saying.

Whether I wanted to or not, I still felt a sort of obligation to do it. The brochure went on and on about how it was my choice, my right, and how I didn't have to if I didn't want to. No pressure, right?

Wrong. Placing the decision up to me was, ultimately, giving more responsibility than I wanted. It'd be one thing if I was forced to do it. I may not have liked it, but I'd do it because I had to. But since I had the choice, it was easier said than done.

I did it, though. And I must say, I was mighty proud of myself, too.

It was a crazy process. They had me in this room with all these people in there. It almost made me nervous, until Paul made them all introduce themselves and tell them what they did and why they were there.

All I had to do was talk. Sit there and talk, while these people listened. Someone typed up what I said, word for word. Another was operating the tape recorder. And yet another was pointing a small camera at me.

I just talked. I had to tell them the whole story, how I met Cole and when, exactly, our relationship but the dust. I recounted several incidents when he'd gone off the deep end and hit me. I even pulled out my cell phone and read a few of the messaged he'd sent me.

Of course then they took my cell phone away. They needed it for evidence. Paul made them give me some sort of reimbursement for it, in the form of some cash so I could get a new one.

I didn't even know any of this was possible. Leave it to Paul to navigate the system.

But during the statement, they asked questions. Hard ones, easy ones, emotional ones, technical ones. How many times had he hit me in the past? How often did he pay visits to my apartment after we'd broken up? On what days, usually, did he come and harass me at work?

I got through the interview without showing a single emotion. I didn't laugh, I didn't cry . . . I wasn't even angry. It was like I was on auto pilot or something. I couldn't feel anything, I was so detached.

I was telling a story. Someone else's, perhaps not even my own.

But it was MINE.

Only sign the statement when you have carefully read over it. Signing it means that you agree that the content is a fair and accurate account of what happened and the knowledge you have of that which will be investigated. If you are not happy with your statement in any way, a new one will be drafted. If you would like to make any changes at a later date, a new statement will be written.

When you are pleased with the contents of the statement, sign it at the bottom of EVERY page. On the last page sign immediately below the last line of your statement; this is very important. This is to ensure that nothing can be added to your statement illegally.

Nervously, I put my name on every piece of it I could. Of course, I read over it carefully, and I let Paul read over it too. He seemed just as satisfied with it as I did. A little mad when he actually read what had gone on, but satisfied all the same. When it came to the last page, I signed my name, which sealed the deal. It put an end to Cole and to my troubles. For now, at least.

Susannah Simon

Who knew that my name could be that important?

Who knew that Susannah Simon could stop Cole Kennedy, all by herself?

I sure didn't, at first. But now I know that I can.

8 -

As I got out of the car, I looked with glazed eyes at Cole's car, which was still sitting there. It was caked with dirt around the tire panels, and looked like a real pile of crap. In comparison to Paul's Jaguar, it looked really really bad.

Wow. I couldn't believe that I'd even attracted a guy like Cole.

Then again, I couldn't believe I'd attracted a guy like PAUL.

'Are you okay?' Paul asked for the millionth time. I guess it must have been weird - me just randomly stopping in mid-step, to stare at the transportation of Mr Kennedy. 'Yeah,' I said quickly, trying to shake away the thought about how screwed I would have been if he had have gotten me in that car, while I was almost unconscious. Screwed literally and figuratively. 'I'm . . . fine.'

He walked by my side up the long gravel drive to the school. I saw that his eyes were narrowed dangerously. God, what was his deal NOW?

'What?' I asked in slight annoyance.

'Nothing,' he said in a snappish way. 'I'm just gonna – ' I looked down, and saw that his fists were tightly balled. Uhhhh . . . okay, please don't chuck a Cole, I don't know if I could deal.

Once we were in the entrance of the school, he slammed the front door, and the words he yelled made me knew that trouble was brewing.

'DE SILVA!'

It certainly wasn't "Jesse, you've got some 'splainin' to doo!"

I stared at him as he shouted at the roof, looking around for the ghost in question.

With a cascade of gentle light, Jesse appeared beside me.

'What?' he asked boredly when he saw Paul. 'Where were the both of you? I came back, but you were gone, Susannah.'

'Yeah, something kind of bad happ – '

But Paul wouldn't let me get a word in. He was already staring Jesse down. 'I thought I made myself clear for you to watch her,' Paul said in a cold, acidic tone.

Jesse, looking curious, a little surprised, and kind of condescending, raised an eyebrow.

'I know what you said,' he replied. 'Not that I hold words from your mouth in my highest regard, but I would have watched her without your direction, Slater,' he said.

'Paul,' I shook me head, 'He didn't r – '

'So,' Paul now had a kind of give-me-one-reason-and-I-swear-I-will look in his eyes, 'Why weren't you looking after her then?'

'I believe I was, until _Padre_ called,' Jesse said a little defensively. 'I sent her outside so she would stay out of harm's way – '

'From the Misfortunates,' Paul finished for him, an angry smile appearing across his lips.

Jesse nodded curtly. 'Yes. Now please get to your point, for I believe you have one – '

'Suze wasn't out of harm's way,' Paul took a large step up to Jesse, so they were a foot apart. 'She almost got killed, you – '

Jesse's eyes bugged. 'Susannah?' he turned to me quickly, 'What happened? Did you have an accident?'

Yeah, Jesse, I peed my pants.

'Paul,' I said again warningly, 'This isn't necessary – '

'No, she did NOT almost have an accident,' Paul's voice rose, 'There was nothing accidental ABOUT Suze almost getting sexually assaulted, RICO.'

Jesse's mouth fell open. 'Nombre de Dios . . . I - what happened - !'

'YOU did,' Paul said, giving Jesse a very hard shove. 'Yesterday you gave ME shit about not being able to protect Suze from four very aggressive ghosts. And yet YOU couldn't even protect her from a member of the _living_! You stuck her on the outside of the school, you idiot! Didn't you even THINK of what could come from anything BEYOND Fortunaschwein? Cole Kennedy, for instance.'

Jesse stumbled briefly, still employing an alarmed look. 'Are you all right Susannah?' he asked in slight panic.

'Yeah – '

'No thanks to you,' Paul again shoved him, this time a lot harder so Jesse actually DID fall. 'Some friend YOU are to her - she was very nearly murdered because of you!'

Jesse dematerialized and reappeared behind Paul, shoving HIM forward. '_Icierra el pico_. Mind what you say, Slater,' he said in a very harsh voice, 'You have no concept of friendship, and I didn't realize – '

'You're USELESS,' Paul, who'd spun around, yelled in his face, 'You're a dead cowboy who can't do anything right! Look what you did to her! Look what you ALMOST did to her today!'

_'Did to_ her - ?'

I knew exactly what Paul meant. I knew what Jesse had done to me, but that was in the past.

Jesse's eyes flashed with a white hot rage.

'Yeah,' Paul provoked, smiling a dangerous, goading smile, 'You don't even BELONG here de Silva, and even though you ARE here, you still can't do anything. You love her, do you? That's a great way to show love to your QUERIDA - almost get her killed – '

Jesse's fist came out of no where, I swear. And so did Paul's, in total hate and retaliation.

'Hey!' I yelled, but neither had heard, or cared. Jesse had grabbed Paul's shoulder, and was punching him in the stomach. Paul swung his arm up and he knocked Jesse on the side of the head.

'Stop it!' I shouted, because you know, this REALLY wasn't appreciated seeing as earlier I'd been victim of acts of violence MYSELF, and seeing it again was just a wee bit DISTRESSING, YOU KNOW?

I swear, if I have to do another statement, I'm going to FREAK.

Paul, half grinning, kicked Jesse's shin, resulting in Jesse pummeling him, before shoving him against the entrance door by his shoulders.

God, this SUCKED.

'If you don't stop it, I'll – ' I went to threaten ferociously, but neither of them were paying any attention to me.

I realized then and there that Paul and Jesse had been wanting to do this for a LONG time. This was just their first good excuse to. Too long had they been working "side by side." This is how they REALLY felt about each other.

Paul kneed upwards, catching Jesse's . . . uhhh . . . well, it was a good thing Jesse was dead and wasn't able to have children already, or he probably would have been undergoing some serious infertility.

Jesse groaned, '_Vaya al infierno_,' and punched Paul's jaw in fury, and Paul jammed his foot down on Jesse's, making said ghost spring back.

It was horrible. This was even worse than that time in my bedroom. I mean, they were angrier here . . . a lot angrier. AND I DIDN'T HAVE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER!

It's a wonder the school didn't get closed down sooner for not having easily accessible extinguishers. It had to be violating a zillion school safety codes right there.

And, you know four boys ended up _dying_. You can't overlook _that_.

But for this little fight, only one man could possibly end up in a similar situation. Jesse doesn't seem capable of killing a fly, much less a person. Unless that person happens to be Paul Slater. Something had to be done.

'Come on, STOP IT!' I snapped, moving closer to the both of them nervously. I mean, I didn't want to exactly leap into the fray or anything.

I tried to grab Paul's fist as he was about to aim an extra heavy punch at Jesse, but tripped over my own feet and instead fell target to a very hard blow.

My shoulder immediately seized up in pain, and I fell down.

Paul stopped instantly, pale. 'I didn't - Suze, why'd you – '

'Look what you did!' Jesse yelled, kneeling down to me.

I gripped my shoulder. If I thought COLE punched hard, I really had no idea. I mean, Cole's strong, but he's got nothing on Paul.

'Ow,' I said, wincing. 'I told you to stop it, but did you? No! The pair of you both SUCK.'

'Suze –' Paul started, but I flashed him a nasty look, 'Shut up.'

Jesse went to help me stand, but angrily, I shoved him off. 'JUST GO AWAY.'

Both of them were being big babies about the whole thing. I mean, they kept hitting and blaming stuff on each other . . . it wasn't anyone's fault. Jesse was needed elsewhere. How could he possibly think to protect me from Cole, who he only just heard about? And if Paul thought it was too dangerous, he just shouldn't have gone to Dani's autopsy thingie.

Then again, Jesse didn't give Paul enough credit. I mean, Paul was the one who spent the whole afternoon listening to my statement and making sure every legal tidbit was taken care of in the process.

I shouldn't have sympathy for any of them. Them tearing each other apart was tearing _me_ apart. How in the hell did they expect me to choose sides?

I stormed away from the pair of them furiously, and as soon as they were both out of sight, I had to fight to not cry. I know, I'm a gay assed freak, but . . . well, COLE had been very violent like that, and seeing the both of them reenact that right in front of me was just not cool. I'd go as far as to call it insensitive.

Paul and I had picked up a pizza in Gilroy for lunch, so I wasn't exactly hungry. The police thing had been long and grueling. My statement was as true as I could remember it. Paul had been there the whole time. For me.

Ha.

I sighed, and turned around to see Bart standing there, looking a little lost.

'That man almost killed you,' he said bluntly.

'You don't say.'

He shook his head a little, and brushed little blond locks out of his eyes. Pity ghosts can't get haircuts. 'I'm sorry.'

I smiled kind of bitterly. 'Yeah, you are, aren't you.'

He nodded. 'I know,' he said. 'Especially about Robin . . . but you know I can't control him.'

Maybe you should LEARN then. You haven't exactly got anything to LOSE, RIGHT?

I shrugged. 'That's nice.'

'What's wrong?' he asked, noting my sarcasm.

I glared. 'I'm just not in the mood for any of our woman-to-woman chats now, okay?'

He took offense to that. 'Hey, I get enough of that from the other guys, okay? I REALLY don't need you too. I thought you were alright, Susie, but if you're going to be – '

'I'm sorry,' I said tiredly, 'I'm just REALLY not feeling too hot. So does this little encounter have a point?'

Looking a little miffed, he pursed his lips. 'I just wanted to tell you something,' he said.

' . . . Well . . . ?' I prompted.

'That before I died, I was one too,' he replied.

Okay, my shoulder was REALLY hurting, and I was really wanting to get to the kitchen so I could get Tylenol-happy.

Sue me if I didn't like him being cryptic.

'You were what? A woman?' I asked.

'No,' he shook his head in frustration. 'One of you.'

'You were a Suze Simon.'

'No, a . . . a shifter, or whatever it is you call us.'

I stopped dead. 'Hang on - WHAT?'

WHAT THE HELL?

I . . . he . . . but, he couldn't, not little Bartie-boy-

He looked solemn. 'I was forever running around the school, shooing away ghosts and getting into trouble with it. I was late to class all the time. I even got caught by my principal fighting of a gh – '

'You were a shifter, and you thought that NOW was a good time to tell me!' I shrilled at him, 'Why didn't you mention this earlier, Bart?'

He shrugged. 'You didn't ask.'

'Oh yeah,' I snapped, 'Because I'm so likely to pass around a survey to all the ghosts that I meet. "If you were a shifter or born as any other type of paranormal freak, please check the box below." '

'It doesn't matter,' he looked taken aback. 'I just . . . thought it might make you feel better.'

'How'd you figure that?' I said a little harshly. 'Now I have to feel sorry that YOU got stuck with the same curse as me. That's twice as much sympathy. Is there any relevance to your being a shifter at all?'

'Sorry,' he looked quite regretful that he'd told me, 'I thought you might like to know . . . sorry, I'll go – '

Before I could reign in the bitch-with-horns and say that I was sorry for venting, he dematerialized. I slid my hand through my hair, and realized how much my shoulder was now hurting. A steady ache thudded in my arm.

God, I wished Jack was still here. We could make sundaes together and forget about all of our troubles.

Wearily, I made it to the kitchen, and sat on the counter top, next to the series of fridges along the wall. What? It was a big school, hence, a lot of mouths to feed, and a lot of refrigeration required.

I sucked in a low, long breath, held it, and then let it go. Once again, I felt on the verge of breaking down. This was all wearing me out, and taking its toll on me.

'Susannah?'

I looked up, and Jesse was standing there, looking concerned. Instantly, he moved in on my shoulder, lifting my sleeve up. 'It's swelling,' he reported.

'Look at it go,' I cheered lamely at the red fatness.

'That _sinvergüenza_,' he cursed under his breath.

'Shut up,' I said. 'You were fighting too, okay? So just shut up. And he's right . . . you shouldn't have left. I mean, at least not for that long . . . '

'I truly am sorry,' Jesse bowed his head, and then looked back to my shoulder. 'You need ice on that.'

'Oh, we've moved on from putting butter on my wounds, have we?' I said with a little more sarcasm than necessary.

Jesse realized that he was not in my good books. 'Butter is for burns,' he said a little matter-of-factly. 'Susannah, please . . . I'm more sorry than I can say.'

'That I almost died,' I said. 'But then, I almost die everyday. So it's nothing new.'

He opened the freezer ala ghostiness, and instantly a packet of peas zoomed out menacingly, before flattening itself against my shoulder. I flinched slightly at the stark coldness, but closed my eyes.

Jesse had finally embraced the art of modern medicine. I'm so very proud. Whoo hoo.

'So,' I said, 'what was so very important that Father D needed to tell you?'

Jesse was still holding the peas against my arm, just by staring at them. 'He wanted to ask about Danielle, and how her death was affecting the SIA,' he said solemnly. 'I told him that Jack left this morning. He agreed that that was probably for the best. He had a particular interest in asking after you and Slater,' his eyes darkened. 'Why is that?'

I managed to hide a gross blush. 'No idea.'

Dismissing the notion immediately, Jesse went on. 'We talked a while . . . he told me that the funding for his operation had been sent. He was not aware how.'

'Paul,' I said.

'_Scusi_?'

'Paul paid for it,' I repeated.

Jesse made a small noise, but didn't comment.

'What?' I raised my eyebrows.

'I just . . . doubt his intentions,' Jesse chose his words after a moment.

'His intentions?' I frowned.

Jesse's gaze intensified. 'Paul Slater is not a good man,' he said. 'Surely you are well aware of that, Susannah.'

I don't get why Jesse was so hot and bothered. What did Jesse want from him anyway? A freaking Nobel Peace Prize? Or what? For him to join the Peace Corps?

'He's not as evil these days,' I said in subtle defense. 'He's paying for Father Dominic because I asked him to.'

'See?' Jesse said with mild triumph.

'What am I seeing?'

_YOU SEE NOTHING, SUZE! AND WHEN YOU DO, YOU HIDE FROM IT._

'That he – '

'Don't even say that, please,' I said a little rudely. 'His girlfriend just _died_, Jesse. She was murdered. And I'd expect you of all people to be capable of a little compassion, okay? As opposed to the pair of you going around decking each other like he just went too far with a "yo mama" joke or something.'

'A . . . yo mah-mah joke?'

'You know? "Yo mama's so fat that when she hops on the scales it says _to be continued_." Oh right . . . you probably haven't heard one.'

Jesse blinked. 'I see,' he said.

'Why'd you fight him back?' I asked. 'You let him get to you. He did that on purpose.'

Jesse glared at my arm, and the peas suddenly pressed very hard against my skin. 'Ow!' I recoiled, and they slid to the floor.

He didn't have to take it out on ME!

'Sorry,' Jesse apologized, 'I . . . I got mad.'

'I can tell,' I snapped. I saw a couple of peas trickling across the floor in frozen animation. 'Hey, Jesse. You pea-d on the floor.'

He looked down, confused. 'I . . . sorry?'

I shook my head. Jesse never seemed to get my modernized humor. 'Don't mind me, I'm being an ass.'

He didn't reply to that. He levitated the peas and again, held them more gently against my shoulder. 'You must know that there is no love lost between Slater and myself, Susannah,' he said. 'I retaliated because he was insulting my intentions towards you.'

'God, what is it with guys and intentions?' I rolled my eyes. 'I mean, my intentions of a day are "don't get yourself killed" and "try not to embarrass yourself too much." Why do guys have to have complicated ones, frequently involving me, according to you?'

Jesse smiled slightly, staring at me. His eyes were dark with a light amusement. And he didn't even have the decency to respond. Instead, still smiling, now a little more mournfully than before, he brushed the back of his hand across my cheek.

'Jesse,' I said in a low tone of warning, 'Don't.'

Suddenly, he stopped smiling. 'What is _that_?' he asked sharply, moving so he could see my cheek better.

'Uh, Cole's not a very nice ducky,' I said. 'He's a pretty evil ducky when he wants to be, actually.'

'He hit you?'

'Only repeatedly,' I said. 'It doesn't matter anymore, though . . . he's not going to hurt me anymore.'

That's what Paul promised me, anyway.

Jesse's eyes blazed, as he glared at what must have been a hideous lookin' bruise blossoming happily on my cheekbone.

'Susannah,' Jesse said sadly.

I sighed. 'I'm fine,' I said. 'I mean . . . nothing happened. He didn't – I mean, he almost d – but he didn't, and that's all that counts. I'm okay.'

'You're cold,' Jesse said.

I looked down, and saw that an eruption of goosebumps had appeared across my skin. A reaction to the very THOUGHT of what Cole had almost done to me.

Of how far I knew he was about to go.

I knew it as soon as I saw him, and even more so when he had his hand against that part of me, applying enough pressure to terrify me beyond reason.

'Not really,' I shrugged a moment later, as the little bumps all over my body faded.

I saw that Jesse's expression was less than cheerful.

'It's okay,' I said. 'I mean, it's not your fault. What almost happened, I mean.'

'I'm sorry,' he said again, sliding his hand casually into mine. He ran his thumb over the top, and just kept staring at me. Like I was the Mona Lisa, and he was trying to figure out why I didn't have eyebrows, or something.

Yay.

'Don't worry,' I stressed to him. God, if HE dwelled on it, I sure as hell was going to. And it was hard as it was, trying not to fall apart there.

I tugged my hand from his and coughed gently.

'Should Adam and CeeCee not be back by now?' Jesse questioned, changing the subject. 'They left early this morning . . . the car trip is not a long one, and so one would think they'd be back.'

'Maybe they crashed into a ditch and they all died,' I suggested. 'Because that's what the SIA's about, right? Death? I mean, first you. Then Dani.'

'Susannah,' Jesse said in slight shock, 'That's not – '

'Kidding,' I muttered, sighing. 'But you're right. They should have been back eons ago. You can't go . . . check on them, can you?'

Jesse shrugged, and dematerialized. The peas slid off. A moment later, he reappeared in front of me. 'They're driving back,' he informed me. 'I believe that they are not dead. And Jack is not present in the car.'

'So they've either dropped him off in Carmel of have sold him to Columbian drug lords for E,' I concluded. 'I'm going with the latter, since it's Adam we're talking about.'

Jesse shook his head at it. 'It is a rare day, Susannah Simon, that I understand a word that comes from your lips.'

I smiled a little.

'That's comforting.'

Again, he just smiled at me. His eyes looked softer than I'd seen them in a while. They were tainted with a pain that I knew I was responsible for. Oh well . . . it couldn't be helped, now. Not unless I lied to him to make that pain go away . . .

'Why is it that the Misforts never come on this floor, pretty much?' I asked. 'I mean, like, they pretty much stay in the attic. Why?'

'Surely you must know that a ghost generally sticks to where he or she died,' Jesse said, 'Even I have the longing to go back to your bedroom sometimes. At night I do . . . for a few seconds. Then I come back here.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Just wondering.'

Jesse bowed his head again, before grinning back up at me.

'What?' I asked. 'What's funny?'

'Just recalling,' he said, 'The time when I found you in David's bed armed with an axe.'

'Shut up.'

'And a mace – '

I blushed feebly, and Jesse chuckled. 'I don't believe I've ever laughed so hard, _querida_.'

Don't call me that . . . for your sake, Jesse.

I smiled awkwardly. 'It's your fault for having an illiterate homicidal ex-fiancé who wanted me dead,' I told him. 'So there, cop that, _vaquero._'

His smile faltered. 'Now Susannah, that was uncalled for.'

I tossed my head. 'I fight dirty.' Then I added, 'Cadaver breath.'

Jesse laughed. 'Need I remind you of your vampire slaying incompetence?'

I sniffed in indignation. '_That_ was uncalled for.'

'Those were our days,' Jesse said. 'They always will be our days.'

'Yeah,' I agreed. 'I was so young and stupid. Now I'm . . . well, still stupid, just a bit older.'

'Couldn't agree more,' he grinned.

'You weren't supposed to,' I pointed out.

'Hmmmm,' he smiled. I looked down and was shocked to find that both of my hands were in his. When had they gotten there?

And he was standing like, _right_ in front of my knees now. He was close to me. When did THAT happen?

I miss so much, I swear.

Then all of a sudden, he jerked back, looking away.

'I'm sorry,' he rushed to say, '_lo siento, lo siento_ –'

'Huh?' I was confused.

He looked back up at me, with difficulty. 'I can't trust myself to be with you, Susannah,' he told me.

'Why not?' Uh, this was weird. What? Did he get mad impulses to kill me too?

Join the club.

'Because,' he said with some reluctance, 'When I'm with you, Susannah, all I ever want to do is kiss you.'

I swallowed. 'Oh.'

Again, he looked away, running his hand through his hair. 'I'm sorry – '

'Uh, it's, um, okay,' I shrugged. Was it?

This was really weird.

'_Why_?' I gave him a strange look. It's just ME, after all.

'I don't believe I need to spell it out for you,' he told me. 'You and I already know why.'

Oh. Yeah. That.

I sighed, not really knowing what to say. I slid down from the bench top, picked up the peas, and put them back in the freezer. Jesse was still standing about a meter away from me, not daring to move an inch closer. His honour wouldn't allow it.

Although a second later, he'd told his honour to get screwed, because all of a sudden, he was standing right in front of me, a new look in his eyes now. It was both soulful and urgent, tainted with an ancient sentiment. I could actually feel him breathing. He didn't even NEED to breathe. He was dead. But he was breathing like any heart-beat owner would be doing, right there and then. Except Jesse's breathing was extremely breathy. And kind of ragged.

'Please,' he said in a voice that pleaded with me till the ends of time, 'One kiss, Susannah . . .'

This was really random.

I looked up at him, totally gobsmacked. 'Uh – '

Noticing that look in his eyes, however, I didn't think I _could_ say no. Not to him, not then.

One kiss. It didn't mean anything. At least, not to me.

Why did he want it though? Was it going to give him like, high hopes about me? Because they'd definitely be in vain.

So, with me backed against the fridge, I closed my eyes, and moved my head forward. When his lips touched mine, it meant nothing. I mean, it _felt_ nice. Sure. Don't all of Jesse's kisses feel nice? They're amazing. He was so soft and gentle in his affection. His hands were holding my shoulders, one of them mindful that one of my shoulders was still swollen, and taking that into account by holding it more loosely. Said hand then slid up my neck, till it caressed my face ardently. I could feel him breathing on my face. His nose was touching mine.

And all I could damned well think about was a certain lawyer who I would have done anything to have been doing this with.

With as much gentleness as it's beginning, Jesse ended his kiss by pulling his lips away from mine. He hovered over my mouth for a second, leaning his forehead against mine, breathing hard. I was too. My eyelashes fluttered open very slowly, and I looked up at him.

'_Dios, usted es tan hermoso_ . . . ' he said in a long breath out.

My face felt numb. And most definitely my lips. I had deep regrets from consenting to that. I should not have done that.

After perpetuity, he asked against my cheek, 'Nothing, _querida_?'

I blinked. 'I'm really sorry,' I said. 'Maybe I'm a lesbian.'

In spite of himself, he laughed. But he stopped pretty quickly, and slowly pulled away from me, sliding his hands down my arms, till they reached my hands, before dropping them. 'I cannot believe I actually did that,' he said with some surprise. 'I'm sorry for offending you, but I . . . I had to know, Susannah.'

He sounded so, so sad.

'Now I do.'

'You're a really good kisser,' I said.

What the HELL? Suze, be TACTFUL? He's just established that you're definitely not in love with him, you could be a LITTLE more supportive, you _loser_.

He smiled with embarrassment. 'I doubt that'll get me far,' he said. 'I'm sorry, Susannah, again. I don't know what came over me – '

'It's okay,' I said quickly. 'Just, it can't happen again.'

He gazed at me with increasing dejection. '_Si, si,_ I know, it won't – '

'SUZE? IS ANYONE HERE, EVEN?'

Both of us looked at the kitchen door quickly, at the sound of Adam's voice. I could hear rather hysterical laughing.

'Uh,' I said, 'I think CeeCee and Adam are back.'

Jesse nodded vaguely, looking absent and low, and dematerialized.

Pulling myself together, I jogged out the kitchen to the entrance of the school, where CeeCee and Adam were literally cracking up with laughter. Adam was twirling CeeCee around in the air, holding her around the waist.

What's the joke?

At the first sight of me, CeeCee screamed in thrill and Adam's hands loosened till she slid back to her feet. 'SUZE! What's my name?'

. . . Um.

'CeeCee?' I said uncertainly, due to being in the presence of insanity.

'No, my WHOLE name!'

'CeeCee Webb.'

'WRONG!' she erupted into another fit of giggles.

. . . No way . . . no freaking way . . .

'You're joking,' I said. 'Are you JOKING?'

Both of them cracked up laughing again.

'Presenting,' Adam said brightly, 'Mr and Mrs Adam McTavish. We wanted to be Mr and Mrs Smith, but Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie took it already. There's something to be said for being assassins though – '

'YOU GOT MARRIED?' I exploded, 'WHEN?'

CeeCee, trying not to pass out from giggling so much, explained how they'd ducked into a registry office on their way back. And that was that. They were bound in unholy matrimony.

'Father Dom's going to crucify you,' I said in awe. 'But – YOU'RE MARRIED! OH MY GOD!'

The three of us started laughing and screaming – although Adam will deny screaming, saying he is too manly to emit such feminine sounds – and dancing around.

_MY FREAKING BEST FRIENDS JUST GOT FREAKING HITCHED._

'I LOVE you guys!' I squealed, hugging them both blissfully. 'Are you going to have another wedding?'

'Of course,' CeeCee tried to calm herself down. Her hands were shaking she was so excited. Her face was beaming, like the sun itself. She was so, so happy.

While Jesse de Silva was so, so sad.

'With the whole enchilada,' Adam went on, his arms around CeeCee's waist, 'Only the best for my . . . my _wife_. God damn it, that sounds good,' he added, his eyes narrowed comically. 'CeeCee McTavish. My wife. Love of my life.'

I clapped my hand to my mouth to try and stop myself from my ecstatic hysteria. I madly kissed Adam on the cheek and then CeeCee, and then hugged both of them again. 'Where the hell did this come from?'

A pang of nervousness struck up in Adam's eyes. 'Well frankly,' he said, 'My _wife_ and I were scared shitless. And I was all, "CeeCee, my raspberry poptart, my enchanted honeybee, my Venus di Milo with arms, I shall have your hand in marriage before the day is done or my penis is not 17 inches!" And considering it's not, I was a bit worried – '

'This morning, he told me he wanted to do it today,' CeeCee explained, trying and failing to hold back her sunny smile, 'And so we did.'

'In the eyes of God, we're not technically married,' Adam shrugged, 'But then again, I am God. A bed god, so I deem us husband and wife. Although I'm willing to be a bigot if you want to join our happy relationship, Suze,' Adam nodded curtly. 'That will involve many exciting adventures in the bedroom for the three of us – '

CeeCee cracked up all over again. 'I can't believe this,' she shook her hair, laughing her albino ass off, 'Oh my God, we actually went through with it – '

'Mr and Mrs McTavish,' I said to myself. 'Wow, guys. Wow. Wow, wow, wow. And I'd better make a freakin' bridesmaid at the wedding or God help you – '

'But we got the Best Man penguin suit picked out for you already,' Adam looked appalled.

CeeCee hugged me tightly. 'You're my best friend, Suze. You're the freakin' Maid of HONOUR, hello?'

'Well, I was going for that,' I smirked. 'I can't BELIEVE you got MARRIED – '

'Neither can I,' CeeCee giggled. 'Oooh, look at my ring!'

She held up her hand.

' . . . It's candy,' I said slowly, to which CeeCee started giggling even harder. Adam proudly held up his matching candy ring. It was a gummy looking pink lolly with swirls of lime green through it. Adam grabbed a whole packet of them out of his pocket and popped a couple in his mouth, before handing some to me. 'No artificial colours, flavours, or preservatives,' he read off the bag.

I just shook my head at the two of them. They both looked so _happy_. So truly happy. Then, Adam wiggled his eyebrows at me. 'Don't mind us,' he said, before chucking another candy ring in his mouth, yanking CeeCee to face him so forcefully that she squeaked in shock, and kissing her.

Lots and lots of tongue.

. . . Eww.

Apparently CeeCee was trying to get the candy in her mouth.

. . . Uh, nice.

'Get a room,' I scowled at the pair of them humorously.

Ha, I wonder how quickly the spirits would descend if I told them my little catastrophe with Mr Kennedy today?

That's information that's best left unsaid.

'Mum's gonna kill me,' Adam said. 'She didn't even know I was engaged.'

'Neither,' CeeCee said. '_Mr Adam McTavish . . . _'

'_Mrs CeeCee McTavish_,' Adam replied in fake seduction, squeezing her butt. 'Your ass is officially my property, Cob-Webb. I may do with it as I please.'

'Same goes for your dick,' CeeCee smiled giddily.

'If only you had one,' I said teasingly to Adam.

In affront, he demanded, 'DO YOU WANT PROOF OF ITS EXISTENCE, SIMON?'

'Um. No.'

Sigh.

And, so. My two besties had said "I do."

I couldn't have been happier for them. Although, when the adrenaline from their big news wore off, I knew very well how low my mood was going to go again. But that wasn't now. Now, I was relishing in the fact that Adam and CeeCee were wedded.

So shut up.

- 8 -

You know what I was starting to hate even more than crying?

Shivering.

Which is saying something. I loathe crying with every fibre of my being. But since two nights ago, I don't think I've ever shivered more in my life.

There I was, at 3am, sleepless in Father Dom's car. I was shivering like mad. It was so damned cold, and the quilt that I had felt like nothing.

After I'd found out about Cee and Adam, things had gone downhill once again. Paul wasn't talking to me and was avoiding me at all costs, AGAIN. Despite what I'd been through that morning. Jesse wasn't anywhere, so I couldn't talk to him about that kiss. I'd made my point loud and clear, but still . . .

I hadn't taken anything to help me sleep tonight, and I was now severely regretting it. I mean, last night, I'd been terrified of the fact that a fellow member of my Supernatural Investigations Agency had been killed. Now, I was - DON'T LAUGH.

But I was terrified of Cole.

Which didn't make ANY SENSE, I realize this perfectly. Seeing as he was all locked away, so he couldn't try to hurt me anymore.

But the fact of the matter was, something truly horrific almost happened to me today.

I almost got raped.

No, really.

RAPED.

Forced against my will. Screaming and crying and begging him to stop.

Raped.

And it didn't mean anything that he wasn't here now. He HAD been here. He HAD had that intention, and he was DAMNED well going to go through with it.

And I'm sorry, but that scared the fucking bejeezus about of me.

Because I was alone, again. It was night. I was cold, and I couldn't sleep. I was surrounded by an unearthly mass of deep shadow and fog, and there were three very violent ghosts haunting the school just adjacent to where I was currently situated.

EXCUSE ME FOR BEING A LITTLE WIGGY.

I tried so hard to close my eyes and block all thoughts, but it SO wasn't happening. If it wasn't Cole's fist coming towards my face in seemingly slow motion, it was Paul and Jesse attempting to beat each other shitless. Or it was Dani's eyes. From, you know, her corpse, not her living self. They were bearable.

Her dead eyes were not. They were things of nightmares. Gaunt, hollow, dead, haunting.

And when it wasn't that, it was Cole all over again . . . chasing me, touching me, threatening me, hunting me down . . .

I didn't like being alone. But I sure as hell was alone now.

And it was damned scary.

My teeth were chattering by now. I lifted my hands up, and glared at them. They were both shaking like mad, like little vibrators. Eww. Nice reference, Suze.

Every time I went to look out the window, I couldn't bring myself to. I kept seeing Cole standing there, in the dark, smirking at me. Even though he wasn't there, I saw him. It was if his memory, not his ghost, was haunting me.

Pull yourself together, Suze! You RETARD. Come on, STOP IT. When you're on your own, no one can hurt you.

But it's scary to think what would happen if all of a sudden, you WEREN'T on your own.

All of a sudden, someone's there with you, watching you, waiting . . .

SUZE, FOR GOD'S SAKE, STOP IT!

AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, STOP SHIVERING!

Which only made me shake harder.

This was nuts. It was madness. I was terrified of being alone. Now, anyway. It was truly horrible. The corners of my soul were frozen with an ice-cold grip of fear that would not relinquish.

And after an eternity of debating, "Yes," and "No . . . " I finally opened the car door, and hopped out, holding onto my flashlight religiously.

I made my way shakily over to Paul's jaguar. If he was awake, maybe we could talk and I wouldn't be alone -

He won't be awake, Suze.

I shone my flashlight in front of me, moving as quickly as possible before the darkness had a chance to consume me completely. The chill threatened to assassinate me there and then. I was numb with cold. I couldn't feel my fingers or my toes.

Once at Paul's car door, I realized, uh, he had tinted windows. And I couldn't see through them anyway.

God, DAMN IT . . .

Why was I even standing there? Why was I going to PAUL? After how he'd treated me lately, the Cole thing TOTALLY aside, why did I still TRUST him? Just thinking about him made more shards of dignity crumble away.

Suze, leave him alone. This whole thing was traumatic for him. His girlfriend - NOT his stupid one night stand - had been murdered.

So just go back to your little priestly friend's car, and shiver THERE, not outside the door of the guy you slept with for a couple of hours.

Closing my eyes at the pang of pain, I turned around and hugged my arms around my upper body.

The slightly stronger wind is snatching at my skin that was exposed. I shivered with yet more violence.

'Psst! Hey, where do you think you're going?'

I turned back around, and saw that the car door was open slightly. A weary looking Paul was gazing out at me curiously.

'Oh, sorry, I was just . . . you know, seeing, um - go back to sleep, sorry - '

Paul raised his eyebrows. 'Do you still have that phobia of getting into cars with me, Simon?'

I hugged myself even tighter. 'Um . . . '

I touched my fingers to my face, and realized how cold I actually was. My fingers were ICE. Jeez.

'Come on,' Paul opened the door more, 'Get in.' The Jaguar's black interior looked very inviting.

'Oh - ' I said, off-guard. 'Uh, I didn't mean to - '

'Suze, get in,' he said in a firmer voice.

'Okay,' I muttered, sliding in. I'm SO easily bullied.

I slowly closed the door, and then sat with my knees together tightly, my hands in my lap, and my head bowed. I was very, VERY aware of Paul's presence . . .

'Here,' Paul handed me one of his blankets. His hand brushed against mine. 'Whoa, Suze - you're freezing.'

As opposed to "you're hot."

Yay.

I looked up, but not at him.

'Um, thanks,' I said, pulling the blanket over me, before leaning my head against the window.

I clenched my teeth together in an effort to get them to quit chattering.

'So . . . ' Paul drawled, 'Couldn't sleep?'

'Not really,' I smiled very, very weakly. 'You?'

'Same,' he sighed. 'Black leather isn't as comfortable as they play it up to be.'

Luxury isn't always perfect, Paul.

'You've got something on your mind,' Paul told me. He pulled his own blanket around his shoulders.

'Maybe.'

'Mind sharing? We both can't sleep, we might as well be productive. We have all night, after all,' he added with a grin.

I took a large breath. Here he was, doing to all over again . . .

I stared more intently at the leather lining of the seat in front of me. 'Cole?' he guessed softly.

A kind of strangled noise came from me, but I didn't say a word. Why did I even COME here? All he was going to do was ask and ask and ask and take and take, and take . . .

Why didn't I go to Mr and Mrs McTavish's car?

Sure, I would have had to watch them provide each other with orgasms, but it was better than THIS.

I breathed in again, and looked out the window, but since all I saw was Cole, over and over again, waiting in the darkness, I had to look away, back at the car seat.

'Suze,' Paul said. 'You know, if something's bothering you, you can tell me. We've been needing to have a little chat for a while, too.'

'Yes, okay?' I said quickly. 'I'm scared. Happy?'

'No,' he replied. 'Why do you think I'd be happy that you were scared, Suze?'

Because you're a thing of evil and you smell bad.

I didn't answer.

'I don't want to talk,' I said a little stiffly.

'Well, I do,' Paul leant over to me a little. 'I think we owe it to each other, Suze.'

'Not really,' I sniffed, still gritting my teeth to prevent any chattering.

Paul grunted something in annoyance.

'What do we need to talk about?' I asked in clipped tones.

'Us,' he responded.

I will admit, my heart was frivilous and foolish enough to thud that bit harder at hearing at word.

Just a two letter word, and yet, it made a small, powerful hope develope within me . . .

Us . . . ?

'Well,' I half yawned, 'I'm not in the mood to hear a nicely crafted bullshit story. I'm really tired, Paul.'

Paul's face was expressionless. 'You think I'd lie?'

'I don't know,' I shrugged. Paul groaned, and looked up at the ceiling kind of helplessly. 'Well, what do you EXPECT?' I demanded, twisting to face him.

'I don't know either,' he responded.

He closed his eyes.

'Look, I have no idea of knowing how you think. Or what you really want out of this thing. Now, I'm used to getting hurt. It's like, the norm for me. But I don't like to actually dig my own graves. That's just stupid. So I'm not going to believe you if you just call me a missing piece. And that night . . . ' I paused, and breathed in deeply, 'that meant more to me than I think you realize.'

Paul's shoulders sank a bit, at that.

'And,' I went on, 'It's looking like another thing to add to the long list of my mistakes.'

'I hope it doesn't make it. I'd hate to think that you regretted it,' Paul said sideways to me.

I smiled wryly, in spite of myself. 'You WOULD hate that, wouldn't you.'

'Of course. Because I didn't. What we did . . . it was more than okay by me.'

. . . MORE THAN OKAY?

I went very still, and then jerked around. 'More than okay!' I echoed shrilly, and then promptly began fumbling around for the door knob, 'Oh my God - '

'Suze - don't, no wait, stop - don't go,' Paul said quickly.

'Why the hell should I STAY? So we can do more things that are more-than-okay by you?' I shoved his stupid blankets off of me.

Suze, you're an IDIOT.

Paul's hand came to my shoulder. 'I - Suze, please, you know I didn't mean it like that - '

I couldn't believe this. I couldn't believe HIM. I stared at his hand in pure and utter disgust. Most of this feeling, however, was directed towards myself. I mean, how could I have been so stupid?

I should have exercised more self-control. In the heat of the moment, I should have taken my hands from his soft, silken curls and onto his strong, muscular chest and-

Aw, hell. Given those circumstances, it would have been hard for ANY girl. Unless you're batting for the other team or something.

I found the door knob and jerked the door open with all of my might. I was about to step out, when a random gust of mighty wind came and pushed me back in the car, the door slamming behind me loudly.

You know what? Getting in a car with Paul Slater is just a BAD idea. It doesn't matter if he's seventeen, or twenty-three, or even a hundred and ten. Especially since he has the ability to pull crap like THAT.

It was even worse when I noticed just how close Paul's little bit of shifter magic had brought us. I tried to ignore it and look angry instead of aware and nervous. Of course, I could

Of course, I could pretend I was miles away, and it still wouldn't change the fact that my nose could almost touch his cheek.

'Please,' Paul pleaded, 'let's just talk it out. I'm sure we have much to say to each other that we've avoided for a really long time.'

'There's a reason we've avoided it, Paul,' I said, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. 'It's because whenever we try to confront it, it always blows out of proportion, and then when we get all worked up over it, it turns into something completely pointless and irrelevant.'

'Like sex?' Paul asked.

I looked away, trying not to look hurt.

'Yeah. I mean, we were in this huge argument and then the subject changed from my problems to your problems, and then all of a sudden it was US. And then you had to kiss me and then THAT happened-'

Paul cut me off with the wave of his hand. 'Suze. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe it's the arguing that's pointless and irrelevant?'

He had me there. 'Well, no,' I replied. 'But it wasn't like we were planning this to happen.'

'Maybe we didn't have to. Maybe it was bound to happen sooner or later, and then just happened to be the right moment.'

'Since when do you believe in fate, Slater?' I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

Paul let out a breath that I didn't realize he was holding in until I felt it on my burning cheek.

'Since I met you.'

I groaned a little. 'Right,' I said disbelievingly. 'Whatever.'

'You think I'm lying?' he asked in defense.

'How should I know?'

He snapped his head back to the front. 'Just because of what happened after, we can't ruin this, Suze.'

'Ruin WHAT?' I demanded angrily. 'What are you talking about? Us? We don't have anything, Paul! We have both established that that . . . night - it wasn't meant-'

'What do you mean?' he faced me again. His nose looked particularly strong in the moonlight, and I could see the soft reflections of me in his eyes.

'Well, I know you didn't care about it,' I babbled, 'And I - '

'How do you KNOW what I think, Suze? You've just said that you don't! You have no idea what goes through my mind just as much as I have no idea what the hell goes through yours.'

'You TOLD me!' I cried at him, 'Remember? "So I stick you for one night and suddenly you love me?" when we were up at the attic - '

He laughed at me. 'You thought I MEANT that, Suze? I was trying to get you out of there.'

I swallowed.

. . . Oh.

'Well,' I said bitterly, 'You didn't have to say THAT. You don't realize how badly that hurt, do you?'

'You weren't going to leave any other way,' he told me. I looked down. His hand was beside mine, on the leather seat. I tugged the rug back up to me, trying to fend myself from the cold.

I twisted away, and pouted. This was all so screwed up . . .

'I just don't want to think about it anymore, okay?' I said, dissmissing something he was about to add.

'Fine,

' Paul said. 'No more thinking.'

I felt his hand graze my leg. I instantly froze.

'No. I'm going to keep thinking . . . thinking that you suck and that you're being totally unfair by messing with me,' I snapped. I swatted his hand off my leg and held the blanket closer to me.

Even I, Susannah Simon, did not deserve this. And that's saying something.

'Don't you realize that nothing in life is fair, Suze?' Paul asked, sitting back in his chair a little, but not in defeat like I hoped. 'I mean, if you think about it, is it really fair that Father Dom has a tumor? I mean, he's a freaking priest. If he's doomed, we're ALL doomed in this world. And what about Jack? Was it fair that he had to leave the school? All because the fab four of this damned school had to go and murder my girlfriend? And, I might be mistaken, but it's also not fair that Cole sought you out, catching you and all of us off guard. I mean, none of us DESERVE this, do we?'

I went a little stiff.

'Maybe we do,' I replied, softly.

'God, Simon,' Paul kind of scowled, 'Don't start that again.'

'Start what? The fact that people eventually get what's coming to them?'

'When did YOU start believing in fate?' Paul echoed from earlier.

'I don't,' I said. And as much as God sucks, I for some daft reason, believe in Him. Weird. 'All I'm saying is it's not fair that you're doing this . . . I don't know how much of it I can take.'

Paul shook his head at me in disgust. '_I'm_ not being fair? Suze, we did something together . . . we gave each other something precious, and you're trying to tell me that I didn't mean that? You think _that's _fair? Or is this just your twisted way of telling me that you didn't want it to happen? And you're trying to make it seem like my fault so you're not feeling guilty. Is that it?'

'No – '

'Suze, embrace the truth or dub it as a lie. We had sex. That's that. Now that was probably the best thing that I've experienced. It meant a whole lot more, since it was with you. I mean that,' Paul stressed at me. 'Okay?'

'A whole lot more than what?' I asked nervously. 'Paul, I had to tell Jesse that I didn't love him. Before all of this. And it's true, I don't. After all this time I couldn't keep loving and hating him. Paul, was it worth me telling him? Because if that was just a "whole lot more" to you, while for me it was probably "the most," I - ' I trailed off, and sighed. 'I just don't know . . . '

I looked back at Paul sadly, and saw that his face was blank in shock.

'You don't love Jesse anymore,' he echoed tonelessly. 'You're serious.'

'Er, yes.'

He blinked, still looking flabbergasted. 'You mean . . . you weren't thinking about him during - the whole time, that was all for me?'

Uh, that sounded weird.

'What do you mean?' I asked. 'What's the big shock?'

He shook his head in mild disbelief. 'Just . . . you'd be a little stunned too, if the only reason Suze Simon ever came to me was because of Jesse de Silva.'

I bit my lip a little. 'It was all for you,' I said quietly.

Paul let out a small laugh, and looked out the window, eyebrows raised. Instantly, I flared up. Jesse's pain was music to his ears. 'It's NOT funny,' I spat, 'You have - you have NO idea what it was like, telling him that I didn't love him. It was so . . . he was just completely broken, and - so don't you DARE - '

'Shhhh,' Paul pacified me, looking back. 'Suze, I'm not laughing at him, I swear. I just didn't expect that.'

'Expect what?'

'What you just told me,' he said. 'I was scared that you'd look me in the eye, say it all meant jack to you, and tell me that you were wishing I was someone else. Wishing I was him.'

I shook my head quickly. 'No . . . earlier today, Jesse kissed me. And - all I could think about was you,' I said huskily.

'He kissed y - ?'

'It was nothing,' I said quickly.

Paul just stared at me, before laughing a little, again. He shook his head. 'God, I'm an idiot,' he muttered.

'I'm even more of one,' I added with a sigh.

. . . Suze, what he's saying, it - it could only mean one thing -

Oh please, God, don't let this be a lie . . . please, PLEASE, don't let it be a lie.

This was it.

I took a deep breath, and all my blood froze in mid-pump.

Please, oh please . . .

'Paul, just give me a straight answer,' I half-choked out. I looked him in the eye gravely.

Breathe, Simon. Remember that thing? Involving oxygen? Do that thing.

'Do you love me?'

A horrible wave of unbearable cold washed over me, bringing the chill up to full scale. I shivered, and my heart was at a standstill, stained with ice-cold qualms.

Paul's mouth parted. But my gaze was on his eyes.

He answered.

'More than you'll ever know.'

I swallowed something huge in the back of my throat, and closed my eyes. Hard. I felt his hand on my face. It was so unbelievably warm. He reinforced his words, 'Suze, I love you.'

I breathed out noisily.

'That's good enough for me,' I whispered.

And I closed the space between us.

And I was kissing him, and he was kissing me. A lot. The next time I was conscious enough to realize what was happening, I was _straddling _his lap, holding his face, kissing him. His hands were on my hips, pulling me right against him. I felt numb from the quick change in my body temperature. I'd gone from freezing to sweltering in a matter of seconds, it seemed.

Oh, God . . .

Soon, my mind got lost in a far away place as I succumbed to feelings that were purely physical. The way his hands felt on me was thrilling. They made my skin, my blood, and my soul _yearn_ for him to never stop touching me. There was something more in his kiss . . . it was so much deeper than just lust.

Paul kissed along my jaw, then on my neck, and I half-moaned. It was hot. And cold. But he was making it hot. His mouth descended till it was kissing the skin over my collarbone. My head rolled back, and my hands smoothed over his shoulders. The tell tale, um, throbbing of certain places made it's big return, which probably wasn't the best thing, then.

My senses were jarred, and my skin was burning wherever he touched me. I didn't want him to stop. He returned his kiss to my lips, kissing me with an almost abrasive pressure and with even more passion. My hands went straight to his hand, and he groaned softly. Then, with his hands still firmly on my hips, he quickly moved me so I was lying against the car seat. Then he crawled over me and continued kissing me. The breathlessness was coming back, and so was the dizziness, and the pleasure. I was drinking it all in like a life force.

One thing about the backseat of a car?

It's kind of cramped.

But whatever.

He was leaning on his elbows so I wasn't getting all of his body weight. He lifted his head from mine after a second, looking down at me. 'Are you okay?' he asked, 'Is this . . . after what happened today, this is probably too – '

'Shut up, Paul,' I breathed. He kind of smirked, before moving back down to my mouth, where he gently bit my lower lip.

I'm sorry, but that just felt too damn good. A stifled moan escaped my throat, and my nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him against me more. He kind of make this half-groan against my lips. I felt it throughout my entire body. One of his hands was arching me into him, teasing the skin there cruelly. I shuddered from the long lost pleasure.

But then, it all stopped, way too quickly.

Because what I saw outside the window made my heart seize up completely.

'Oh my G – Paul stop it, don't – '

Paul pulled away quickly, while I looked past him with abject horror. 'Suze? What – '

'Jesse,' I whispered. 'Oh, shit – '

'What about him?' Paul demanded with slight anger, but I was already on my way to wriggling out of the car.

Because Jesse de Silva could obviously see through tinted windows.

And he'd seen quite a show.

The look on his face was proof of that. He looked like he'd just been killed, again and again and again and again and again . . .

And I was the one killing him.

By the time I'd forced the car door open, Jesse had started to dematerialize.

'WAIT!' I shouted.

He stopped, and his form became solid again. His eyes were red in fury and indescribable hurt.

My world started spinning faster and faster. No, no, no, no, NO, NO! Why did these things HAPPEN? Just when something DID go right, something had to go WRONG.

He stood there, appalled. 'Oh, Susannah . . . '

I didn't know what I could say to him that would make him stop looking at me like that. Those two words were filled with something that was worse than hurt. It was a toxic fusion of resentment, rage, revulsion and other emotions that I couldn't even begin to identify.

He stared at me for a moment, before looking up at the night sky, closing his eyes.

'Jesse,' I said in my smallest voice, 'Look, you weren't supposed to f – '

'_Susannah_!' Jesse's face rippled suddenly in anger. That's when I realized what was fueling him.

Jealousy. Dark, deadly jealousy.

'When you told me you were no longer in love with me, that other night, I was – ' he discontinued, and looked away heatedly. 'But to have gone to _him_! _Him, _Susannah?'

He started cursing in low, loud, rapid Spanish, distressing me even more. My heart was thudding. 'Jesse please, would you just hear me out? I know that – '

'No,' Jesse's eyes flashed, 'I've done enough hearing. More so than I believe I can endure.' There were emotions flying hotly across his face that I didn't even know EXISTED. 'I – I understand in this damned _time_ that it is common for a man and a woman to . . . come together for one night,' he spat in abhorrence, 'But you and _SLATER?_ Why, Susannah? I know that you do not love him!'

'How the HELL did you figure that?' I demanded. 'You don't know ANYTHING about me! Jesse, I'm not the Suze you knew five years ago, okay?'

'_That_, I believe. _She_ would have _never_ – '

'The old Suze is DEAD,' I yelled. 'You KILLED her, okay? She couldn't take life without you do she just gave up, because it was easier. This new one was living the life of a dead woman. Only now has she actually started LIVING.'

He flinched at my words.

'Jesse,' I lowered my volume, and my throat closed up as I said it, 'As much as you'd like to think otherwise . . . I _do_ love him.'

Oh my God.

Really? Whoa.

. . . I hadn't been able to even admit that to MYSELF, let alone Paul. Why had it taken JESSE to realize that?

Jesse went dead still. He just froze. Immobilized. Something in his eyes just . . . faded. Like a fire that had been burning was suddenly extinguished. He didn't say a word. He just stared at me, lost.

'Say something,' I begged.

My eyes welled up . . . I couldn't bear to break a heart . . . it had happened already to me, and I knew the exquisitely horrific pain of it. It wasn't fair that I was now subjecting Jesse to this, even if it was indeed him who had inflicted such a curse on me. But no one deserved it. However, there didn't seem to be any other way . . .

'Jesse,' my voice was something breathy and dying, 'I'm so sorry.'

His eyes snapped back to mine. Another replacement fire was lit. 'I sincerely doubt that.'

'What?' I gasped, 'You think I want to hurt you? I couldn't – no way. You want me to LIE to you?'

'As a ghost, I have no care for truths,' Jesse said coldly.

I shook my head, backing away. 'Jesse, you never talk like this. Why are you saying th – '

The wind kicked up and started to blow. The trees behind him swayed. Jesse remained impeccably unaffected by nature's wrath. Either that or he was causing it, I wasn't sure.

This was scary. Cole had had an obsession with my body.

But Jesse had an obsession with my love.

It was bad enough that it couldn't be his.

It was even _worse_ now that it was most definitely someone else's.

And adding to that fact that said "someone" was Paul Slater, well . . . it was just unbearable.

'Jesse,' my voice was breaking up, 'I'm sorry, but I can't choose who I love – '

'Yes you can,' he shot back, 'You chose _HIM –_ '

'Look, I can't HELP it if I'm NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU ANYMORE, OKAY?' I screamed shrilly at him, into the night air.

Oh God, oh God, I didn't m –

_Shit_.


	28. The Letters

**A certain scene in this chapter is dedicated very LOVINGLY to _Aina._**

**Oh, how I smirk lolliliciously.**

**Teehee . . . don't worry. In joke. She'll know what I'm talking about.**

**Well. Here's your chapter. And before my birthday, too. Paulie-lovers will really like this. Jesse-fans will hate us.**

**Wow, we're really moving along, aren't we? 28! That's HEAPS. **

**Also to people who think that Jesse will go completely psycho in this chapter . . . do you really think Hayley and myself would characterize him like that? No. He loves Suze. He's HURT. He will not go on a killing spree because of it.**

**Silly peoples . . . O ye of little faith.**

**Love, Lolly and Hayley.**

- 8 -

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

He fell silent.

He stood rigid, closed his eyes, and underwent the hell of what I'd just said. I started shaking all over again. It wasn't supposed to come out like that . . .

Then, his eyes opened. Once again, they were narrow with fury.

'If Felix Diego could have killed me again with a knife, Susannah . . . he would have stabbed me in the front, and for that, I would thank him.'

I almost suffocated on a sob that developed deep in my soul, striking my heart and hooking on my airways. 'That is SO not fair, Jesse!'

'All is fair in love and war, Susannah,' Jesse said coldly.

'Well, I've been in this battle for far too long,' I said, trying to find a stance stable enough to keep standing. 'And quite frankly, I'm tired of it, Jesse.'

Jesse didn't say anything. He just stood there with his eyes shut, looking tortured and pained. He was shaking his head to himself, not wanting to believe a single word he was hearing.

Almost like I did not want to believe any bullshit I'd been hearing from him. I couldn't take it anymore. It annoyed me beyond belief, what he'd done in the past and how he was acting about it now.

So I snapped. Terribly. So much so that when I spoke, I had to choke each word out slowly in order to keep it all from spewing out into a loud sob or an angry yell.

'You sent me away five years ago, remember that? I felt sad and rejected and- hell, I felt so pitiful. I thought I was nothing without you, Jesse. You wanted me to get over you Jesse, and I did. It took me five damn years, but I finally did. And now . . . now you're expecting me to feel this again? I've been through all this crap before. What makes you even think I'd do it all over again?'

Jesse looked like he'd just received a blow much like the one Paul accidentally gave me earlier when I tried to break him and Jesse from fighting. Only, I wasn't exactly putting peas on it to make him feel any better.

In fact, it was more like I was throwing those frozen peas in his face.

In other words . . . ouch.

But at the time, I didn't care. I was gone. Far, far, FAR away.

'Make up your freaking MIND, Jesse. What the hell do you want from me?' I shouted at him.

He winced, but remained quiet for a moment. He looked numb, like he couldn't feel anything anymore. I mean, that wasn't too far off since he was a ghost and in a certain way he couldn't feel anymore. But death can't detach you from emotional pain. You're stuck for all eternity.

Which is why I'm convinced being a ghost would SUCK. I'd rather slip off into the unknown than stick around this hellhole.

In a different, more breathy tone, Jesse whispered his normal Spanish curse, 'Nombre de Dios.' It always puzzled me why he said that, since it was, after all, taking the Lord's name in vain. Only, when he said it this time, it was more like he was calling upon God in desperation. To save him from this pain. To save him from what I was putting him through.

Clearly dejected, he took a step away from me. 'Susannah,' he breathed, looking so, so sad, 'you must know this . . . _Te amo_. I love you. And most importantly, I always will.'

The tables had turned and now I was pretty sure I was the one who looked like she'd been punched. Every girl loves those three little words (two words in Spanish, I guess). But it's hard to relish in them when you don't return the feelings. It took me five long, painful, torturous, and pathetic years to finally realize, though. It hurt me because the realization was still fresh.

Part of me was curious. _Why couldn't this work?_ It asked. _I guess I could make it work._

But deep down, I knew I couldn't.

I wanted to tell Jesse to stop. Stop this, stop loving me! But before I could say anything, he continued, 'You can go . . . go and enjoy a life with the likes of Paul Slater-'

He made a disgusted face, like he was swallowing a bad taste in his throat.

'-But I will still love you. Nothing will change it. _Nada_.'

Forever. As in, all eternity.

Remember when I said I'd been to that Madame Zara lady that one time when I was younger? And, besides pointing out that I was a Mediator, she'd said some other stuff too. Like that I'd have this one love that'd last all of eternity.

One love . . . one freaking love. What the hell did that mean?

I mean, I'd loved Jesse first, a long time ago. Now, I'm in love with Paul. If my math is correct, I believe that's two loves, not one.

Either Madame Zara can't count, or there's some other meaning behind it.

There's many types of love, I guess. There's lust, which doesn't really count as love, but is often mistaken for it. That's the most temporary. Then there's true love, where two people trust each other with their whole mind, body, and soul. It's like they know each other on every single level.

And then there's the worst type of love. Unrequited love, what Jesse has for me.

Could it be? What if . . . what if this love was received instead of something mutual? Jesse said he'd love always. As in forever . . . eternity. Maybe Jesse was the one love that would last for an eternity. Just because he loved me, it didn't mean I had to love him back . . .

Did it even WORK like that? I mean, God that SUCKS.

My mind was now working overtime and my whole heart was in overdrive. Meanwhile, Jesse had managed to close the space between us. I hadn't noticed this, of course.

Jesse took my hand gently in his own and looked down at it. He swallowed a century and a half of loneliness, five years of pain, and an eternity of new torture and misery, and said, 'Susannah, I speak no truer words than these. My love for you is a infinite thing . . . as eternal as my immortal soul. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I just . . . I always thought there would be a chance you might, perhaps, come back to me. I thought we could, then, make things right again. Now I know, as you have helped me realize, that this was but wishful thinking. A fool's silly dream.'

Jesse was love's martyr. And I was the one casting stones at him. One and then another . . . more and more and more . . .

'Oh God,' I gasped, 'Jesse . . . no . . . '

I was about to give him more false hopes, but I felt so terrible. I mean, Jesse didn't deserve any of this. Jesse didn't deserve ME. He was on a completely different plane from me. He was everything that was perfect while I was everything that was not.

And instead of letting him try to pull me up with him, I had to retreat back down. But his love for me caused him to follow me . . . follow me down to the deepest depths. He was now in hell . . . where I had been stranded for five years.

I wanted more than anything to heal his aching heart. I didn't want him to hurt like I did. And not because I loved him, but because I cared. I cared because he cared. Because of everything we'd been through together . . . escaping a flying statue head, jumping out of windows to escape perilous fire, crushing killer geeks, surviving purgatory (and a vicious ex), helping me through the biggest grounding of my life after that party . . . I owed him.

He'd saved my life so many times. Now I knew why.

He looked at me expectantly, but I couldn't say anything. No sentence I could ever form would ever, EVER fix this. The pain would never leave his downtrodden brown eyes. The only thing that would fix this would be lies, and those would just end up breaking it up and blowing it to smithereens.

And besides, I was tired of lying. I was over that now. Sometimes the truth is so beautiful that hiding it seems like a sin . . . a crime against humanity and you. Lying would be like dressing it up as werewolf for Halloween.

My hands were still in his, but now I could feel them shaking in my own. Their usual un-ghostly warmth had gone away, now accompanied by the cold. It was a new, cold, and harsh reality for Jesse.

'Please, Susannah,' he begged, dragging a cold thumb across the back of my hand in his.

And that, my friends, was where it all went downhill. I began to cry my tears painful and merciless.

'I just . . . I don't know what you want from me,' I sobbed, my voice barley audible through the thickness of my throat. 'I don't know what to say, Jesse.'

His expression looked mournful, as if he'd just lost his best friend. But it wasn't a friend it was losing . . . it was a part of himself, the part that was me that I was ripping away from him right then.

Once I got stung by a bee at recess in the third grade. I was just minding my own business, playing with Gina under the slide . . . the place we always hid and played games, just the two of us. Well, one day I was totally captivated by this little bees' nest that was there when we came to play there that day. Well, I saw a bee crawl out of it, and being a little loser I was, thought it'd be fun to play with the bee. I tried to touch it and it stung me right on my finger!

I ran, screaming and crying, to my teacher. I was so mad at the bee, I told her, that I wished I could squish it.

'You don't have to worry about that,' she told me. 'Bees die after they sting you.'

I was satisfied with that answer. It stung me, therefore it should die. I suffer, it suffers.

It wasn't until fourth grade science class the next year that I figured out why bees died after they stung you. It didn't just happen like that. When a bee stings you, it's stinger gets attatched to your skin, so when it pulls away, the stinger is ripped from his butt. Then, it dies and the stinger is stuck in you until you pull it out.

Jesse was already dead. And I had just stung him, and now that I was trying to pull away, I was ripping a big part of me off. And that part would linger with him forever.

Jesse wasn't the only one feeling this pain. I was, too. It was killing me.

Jesse looked as if he wanted to say something, but then he closed his eyes and let out another sigh.

'No . . . no, I cannot ruin your life more than I already have,' he said, putting a stop to his words, now trying to choose them carefully. Because, like I said, I was sobbing way beyond my control.

'Jesse . . . you gave me the best two years of my life,' I choked, swallowing down a major lump in my throat. I could hardly call that ruining my life. I mean, if he hadn't been there, I'd be dead. 'When I was sixteen, I was living in a blissful dream. And I have you to thank for that. But right now, I want to thank you for . . . for loving me and respecting me enough to just let me go. I know, now, why you did it the first time. It was because you cared, not because you didn't love me-'

'There hasn't been a moment where I have not loved you,' Jesse said, his voice as heavy as his heart.

I bowed my head and stared at our hands entwined. Jesse had strengthened his grip on them now, as if I might fall away if he wasn't.

'Jesse,' I pleaded with a single tear rolling down my cheek, 'you have to let me go again.'

His gaze met my watery eyes, screaming of hurt and injustice. For eyes so dark, it was amazing how much emotion they held. I couldn't take it any longer, so I slipped my hands away from his.

Jesse blinked a few times and said in the softest whisper, '_Mi querida_ . . . '

He called me _querida_ again. The one word that used to cause my heart to do somersaults in my chest now caused my heart to rip into two as I was tearing Jesse's apart.

It had ended. It was done. The long battle was over, and I was being shipped back to home. Back to the real world where everything had its own way . . . its own place.

There was no place for ghosts on this earth. That's why God gave us this freakish ability. So that we could help them find their peace, and they could get on to where they actually do belong.

Another place a ghost doesn't belong is in your heart.

I took a slow, cautious step back.

'If there was anything I could do to make this right, I would do it in a heartbeat,' I said, trying to comfort him and myself. 'If there was something that would take away the pain.'

Jesse smiled weakly and replied, 'Love me.'

'Jesse, you know I can't,' I said.

He let out another large sigh and ran his hand through his hair. His gaze was no longer on me, but transfixed in the distance. I suddenly felt a wave of coldness affecting the vibes.

'I am sorry. I should go,' Jesse said, his eyes narrowing. I looked behind me for a moment and saw that Paul was leaning on the door of his Jaguar. I turned back to say something to Jesse, but by the time I did, he had already disappeared.

Again, I faced Paul. I wondered how much of that he'd just heard. He must have heard it all, because he slowly walked towards me, his expression giving his little eavesdropping bit dead away.

And the next thing I know, I'd fallen right into Paul's arms, my ear against his chest.

I was holding on to something real now. Not a childish fantasy anymore. But then, why did it hurt so much to let him go?

'I can't believe I just did that,' I said, realizing that I was now sobbing uncontrollably again.

Paul massaged my back with his fingers, trying to get me to calm myself a little.

But I didn't feel better yet. My world had just spun of its axis, but for another reason entirely. It had spun so fast that it plummeted to the ground and began rolling in the universe's mud-puddle.

That little breakup . . . it had torn apart this huge chunk of me. Who I was now, and who I was when I was sixteen. What Jesse did five years ago had changed my life in a way I thought was the worst. But it turns out this chunk, this important chunk, needed tearing a long time ago.

'I feel like I've destroyed him, Paul,' I said, closing my eyes. They hurt so badly from all the crying I was doing.

Paul didn't answer me straight away. I guess he really didn't know what to say. He'd witnessed the whole thing, but in a distant way.

'Have I?' I demanded, looking up at Paul urgently. 'I mean, this isn't something he can just get over right away.'

'You would never destroy anyone intentionally,' Paul said, smoothing down my hair. 'You aren't capable of that, unlike some people. You've got too big a heart.'

'Then why do I feel so heartless?' I cried.

'Truly heartless people don't feel,' Paul pointed out.

He was right. I wasn't a terrible monster, was I? I felt bad. I felt guilty. The stinger had ripped off my ass and now I was in pain, too. That doesn't make me bad, does it?

I buried my head in his chest, suddenly overcome by the cold I had previously been numb from. I stood there, shivering in his arms for another minute. And he was right there with me, the whole time.

Like this morning, when I was making sure that Cole would never hurt me again.

He was right there.

I could feel his hand in my hair and his other on my back.

I was still shivering when he finally suggested that we go back to his car, or the cold would kill us.

"We."

"Us."

Two very acceptable words, all of a sudden.

A few steps away, Paul opened the door for me. I climbed in. Then he sat in after me, and wrapped his arms around my upper body, pulling me back into him and dragging the quilt over the pair of us. He was still tickling my stomach with his fingertips when I was falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.

One would think I would have stayed awake in terror, mulling over all of the things that had just happened.

But when you're that tired, you can barely function any longer, let alone think. So my consciousness slipped, and I soon found myself asleep. The type of sleep that makes you forget who you are, where you're from, and exactly what you did the day before.

That is, until you wake up.

8-

Paul was right about the leather interior. It really isn't as comfortable as it looks. Especially when shared between two people.

We were sleeping just fine, all comfy and cozy, for a really long time. That was until my foot fell asleep. Given the amount of discomfort that caused, I had to re-adjust.

I tried to do it really quietly so it wouldn't wake Paul up, but one thing he forgot to mention about the leather is that it's so NOISY.

Seriously. I moved my foot, like, two inches and SQUEAAAK. Needless to say, Paul woke up, grunted, and shifted around (making more leathery noises) until he fell back asleep.

All in all: Worst sleep ever. But at least I got to share it with a good guy.

Did I mention that the seatbelt fastener-dealie was digging into my ass?

I must have fallen back asleep again, because the next moment when I opened my eyes, pale sunlight was filtering through the tinted window's of Paul's Jaguar. My head was on Paul's chest, and my hand – for reasons beyond me – was on his crotch. Thankfully, he was very much so asleep, and therefore wasn't experiencing any "happiness" about my accidental hand positioning. Quickly, I moved my hand away, and went to sit up, but his arms tightened around me as I went to pull away.

Even in his sleep, Paul was still pretty damn strong.

I sighed, smiled a little to myself, and closed my eyes again, tossing around random things in my brain . . .

Like how nice my legs felt seeing as I'd recently shaved them.

And what exactly I was going to write in my speech for the Junipero Serra reunion when the reconstruction in the Mission was completed.

And how I needed to pay a visit to Father Dom in hospital to see how he was going, since, according to Jesse, his radiotherapy funding was finally in and the actual radiation was underway.

And how good Paul smelt.

No really. He smelt good. Like he'd just popped out of the shower or something. Only, he did that last night but was somehow still fresh. My eyes could have stayed closed forever, just breathing in that scent.

Of course, random musings come at a price when said musings actually locate something of significance. And that was, how I'd ended up in Paul's car last night at like, 3am something. That reason being, oh, I dunno, I'd just wrenched out Jesse de Silva's no longer existing heart with my clawed hands, leaving a bloody cavity of pain and heartache.

Yeah. That.

However, the sunlight put me in a different frame of mind about the situation. No longer was I so cold that I couldn't move, or feel my fingertips. I was warm, and comfortable against Paul, who was still asleep, his breath fluttering my hair slightly and tickling my cheek.

What was done was done. What had been done had needed doing for a long time.

Closure.

The only thing was . . . that brought me to another matter entirely.

And that was that the man whose hold I was currently basking in, claimed to love me.

_Love_ me. _Me_. Suze freakin' freakazoid Simon.

And that knowledge made me glow brighter than the rising sun . . .

Reminiscing how I'd felt the moment those words had sunk in last night, (or this morning, if you're picky,) a wide smile stretched across my lips. Because it felt NICE. Not only did I feel warmer physically, but there was a different kind of warmth that was NOTHING like what I'd felt when I'd woken up that morning after Paul and I had . . . um, done the dirty, one might say.

If I thought I'd felt warm then, it was nothing like now. Then, I'd still been chilled with insecurity, uncertainty, fear, and cold excitement.

Now, I knew.

Or at least, I was sure I did. Because Paul SO could have been lying.

. . . But I didn't think that he was.

I really didn't.

I honestly couldn't believe that I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I'd been too . . . I dunno, caught up with all of yesterday's events to have a shower, or you know, give the naughty Misforties a chance to see me in the buff. Now, I was kind of regretting that. I hoped that I didn't reek or anything.

I turned a little, just enough so that Paul didn't stir. I looked at his face, and smiled giddily at the serene look on his face. There was a quirk in his lips, like he knew that I was there. You know that smirk? The one that could chill your bones or make your heart melt, or even both at the same time? He even did a Mini-Me one of them when he was asleep. Which is kind of creepy, you know. Makes one wonder what he's dreaming about.

But yeah. From the angle that I was at – below his chin – I could see the determined outline of his jaw, and I got a . . . hey, what's the opposite of a bird's eye view? Ant's eye view? I don't know . . . I got an _ant's eye view_ of his infamous eyelashes. No, seriously. They looked all long and sexy when he was asleep. His eyelids flickered a tiny bit, making me believe that he was in the deep end of his REM cycle or whatever. You know . . . rapid eye movement.

Again, I shifted around a bit, so I was lying on him rather than against him. His arms loosened, and I repositioned myself momentarily to bequeath a feather light kiss just below his ear.

I didn't know why . . . I just needed to kiss him. Even if he didn't realize I was doing it.

However, he must have been on the outskirts of REM, because his eyelids stopped moving a little, before very slowly blinking open. He looked sideways out the front window groggily, and then down at me.

'Oh,' he grinned, his voice rusty with sleep, 'It's you.'

Well, THAT made me feel special.

Not.

Who was he expecting, anyway?

. . . I hoped to God not Dani.

Because sorry, but . . . something told me she wasn't coming back.

His large hands came to my waist, and he sat up a little, till we were both sitting. He cast an amused eye over at the quilt that we'd both kicked off. It was jammed under the driver's seat, pretty much.

'It must have gotten hot,' I said.

'Well obviously, since I was here,' he raised an eyebrow.

'Wow, and he's modest too.'

'Sleep well?' he asked routinely.

I laughed a little, and he rubbed his eyes, before dragging his hand through his hair. 'Not particularly . . . just – car and all. Kept squeaking.'

'Hmm,' he agreed. 'Should have stuck with the bed. Then again . . . ' he trailed off, with a trademark smirk.

I gave an uncomfortable little giggle, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. His hand flirted with my hair in slow movements, making my nerves go all tingly.

'So . . . are you okay though?' he asked. 'I mean . . . last night, with de Si - Jesse, that was pretty full on. And you were upset when – '

'Yeah,' I interrupted, not really fancying a detailed reminder of what had gone down, 'I'm okay now.'

'And – ' Paul said into my hair, lowering his voice for some reason, '_him_?'

I stayed silent for a moment.

'I'm okay,' I repeated, meaning it more now that the subject was Cole Kennedy.

'Good,' he said, with some relief. 'Good.'

He knew that I finally wasn't lying this time.

Paul moved the arm that was around me – consequently squeezing me against him briefly – to check the time.

'Six thirty,' he reported. 'What should we do until it is the usual waking time, Ms. Simon?'

'I don't know,' I shrugged, because I honestly didn't.

He snickered a little. 'We could always do this . . . '

With that, his fingers grazed along my neck, sweeping away my depressed-afro-ish hair, and he started kissing my neck softly. A fat little groan wormed its way out my throat, and I tilted my head back a little, before moving away a little.

'Paul,' I said quietly, 'Not now . . . not here, anyway. I mean . . . I don't want Jesse to see. It's bad enough that – but to make a big _production_ of it where he can – '

Paul nodded in understanding, still looking a little put out. 'Fair enough.'

I know. I had a perfectly good-looking gentleman to suck-face with in a closed in a sexy, sleek looking Jaguar, but NOO I couldn't freely have a morning make-out session because I felt guilty.

It was weird. Even when I wasn't in love with Jesse, he was still keeping me from fully being with Paul.

I could, I guess, just say "screw this" and grab Paul by the collar of his shirt and kiss his lips off. You know, without caring what Jesse thought. But that seemed wrong. Jesse was my friend . . . I could never hurt him like that. I would never do that on purpose.

Just like he hadn't meant to hurt me when he told me to go to Massachusetts on my own. It DID hurt, and I suffered for five years. And now, since it was over, I could enjoy myself, right?

Yeah. At the expense of Jesse.

Maybe the hurt is inevitable. One person can't be happy without having another be miserable. Maybe that's why some people are well off and stuff in America, and then there's the starving children sewing clothes in sweatshops making, like, ten cents an hour.

OH GOD. WHAT AM I DOING? I'M SO CRUEL.

I looked back at Paul apologetically, feeling really rotten. It seemed like I was always choosing between Jesse and Paul. And I'm sure Paul always felt that, no matter what, I would always somehow choose Jesse over him.

But what he didn't realize is that this time, I was choosing him over Jesse. In a backwards sort of way.

Paul had the looks and the manner that would make you give up anything, EVERYTHING, in an instant. Cars, houses, starving children, long lost lovers . . . you name it. It wasn't just because he looked good. It was this aura he possessed. If he tells you to do something, you do it. Where he walks, you follow. If he says something, it's the LAW.

He had a command over everything, whether you liked it or not. Your head, your heart, and, in more passion-filled moments, your body.

And he'd finally managed to capture my heart.

After years of attempts, it seemed.

It was weird, actually, how light I felt at the moment. You know, in contrast to the dark misery I'd felt the night before. It was as if, with the sun, my spirits had risen.

The pain and the hurt over the pass few days seemed so far away.

You know . . . the self-hate after Paul had said that stick-you-for-one-night crack . . . generally feeling disgusting . . . being repeatedly thrashed by my ex . . . Dani's death, and how it stunned us all . . . almost dying in the Misfortunates' flames . . .

One would think that all of that suffering wouldn't be worth it.

But if you felt how I did then, you would have realized how worth it that feeling was.

I'd go through a hundred trials of that pain to have felt like this.

You know . . . to be in the arms of someone who loved me, who I actually had feelings for in return.

. . . Finally.

I thought back to that night when I'd come home, devastated, after Paul - the guy who was CURRENTLY HOLDING ME - had called me a whore. That had been the last straw after a series of horrible happenings, and I'd cracked.

And when I'd run back to this God forsaken school, Jesse had been the one to hold me while I cried.

. . . He was someone who loved me.

The only thing was, after all this time, the love had no longer been mutual.

That was the difference between then, and now.

Because now, I felt something for my captor. There was that uplifting sensation in my heart that eased the corners of my mouth into a gentle, happy smile . . .

And it felt nice.

I don't feel nice very often.

. . . I felt REALLY nice then, though . . .

You know what else would feel really nice right about now? A shower. A good, long, hot shower.

I crawled to the door and opened it. Before I could get out, Paul grabbed my hand and pulled me back in.

'Where do you think you're going?' he asked, his voice low and silky.

'To take a shower,' I answered, trying to sound casual.

'Good idea,' he said, 'I probably should take one too. I need one.'

I didn't point out to him that he smelled really good and that he could get away without one. I mean, his long, curly hair wasn't nappy, and his skin didn't lack any luster to it. He didn't even have that gross-sticky feeling you feel when you wake up.

He smiled at me, in a manner I could hardly call innocent, and then went, 'Oh . . . but I think I'm out of soap. You wouldn't mind sharing, would you?'

I was kind of shocked. I mean, I've never showered with anyone before. Nobody's even ASKED me before.

Okay, so Paul hadn't necessarily flat-out asked, but I knew that's what he was getting at. I just know him too well.

'Uh,' I started unsurely.

I know, you're probably thinking "What are you afraid of? You've done the naked thing before".

Yeah, we did. But that was kind of different, you know? I mean, that was in the dark and stuff. In a way, my body was still masked by the darkness. He probably couldn't see any of my imperfections . . .

But now he could. And, bonus, he would be able to see what was left of Cole's influence on me.

Yeah, the bruises were still slightly there. Last time I checked, they were gruesome. I can't imagine a doctor even wanting to see them. And there's some in places I can't even see myself. But Paul would be able to see them.

I was like a broken toy. Nobody wants to play with the broken toy.

Of course, showering alone meant becoming vulnerable to more bruises from the Misfortunates.

I swear, those four – erm, three – have caused me to be the most paranoid I've ever been. Any spare moment I'm alone, I always count the seconds until they come to harass me. Even if they don't choose to bug me, I always feel watched. And the smallest thing will freak me out. Like I'll think I hear distant laughing and stuff.

I'd rather NOT have a repeat of my first shower here. The blood and everything . . . God, that was SICKENING.

But it goes to show how serious they are. Serious enough to take away my freedom to shower . . .

And to take away Dani's life.

I bit my lower lip and replied, not very confidently, 'Um . . . oh – uh . . . yeah.'

Paul was going to have to see the real me sooner or later. All of me . . . the scars, the bruises, the flaws . . .

That would be the true test. If he really loved me, he would look past my brokeness.

I kind of hoped that maybe he'd see and mend me. Polish me and make me better than I ever was before.

So that was a yes.

What? Sue me if I shower with him. I mean, he's out of soap! It'd be a shame for him to get all smelly (even though I doubted he could) all because I wouldn't share with him.

What would my first grade teacher say about that? All of her hard work, trying to get everyone to share . . . I owed it to _her_.

THINK OF THE FIRST GRADE TEACHER, GUYS.

We're saving water. Did you know that a five-minute shower uses up about 25-50 gallons of water? At minimum, I take a fifteen-minute shower. So that's, like, 75-150 gallons of water. If he takes the same amount of time in the shower, that'd be 150-300 gallons.

And, you know, since only 2 of our water is drinkable freshwater, that's A LOT of water to waste on getting clean. We're cutting our water usage in half. We should be given an award for our water conservation.

And, okay, I was still kind of scared of showering alone. I mean, it was scary to think that cleaning off might come at a price. I might end up like Dani, maybe even worse.

Gulp.

Um, I think I've justified myself enough.

Exiting the car, Paul opened his truck and rummaged around for a towel and some clothes. I found myself straining to get a peek inside his bag to see if he really didn't have any soap. Maybe if I saw some and brought it to his attention then-

SUZE, GROW UP. It's just a shower, right?

Once he collected everything he needed, he threw his towel over his shoulder and walked with his clothes tucked under one of his arms. The other hand, of course, found its way in my own somehow.

We entered the school, still looking the same. Not that I expected it to look any different. I just expected the new light that lit up my life to change my attitude about it a little.

Light or no light, that place still overflowed with darkness, destruction, and death.

Speaking of death . . . _Jesse_ was sitting on the steps leading upstairs, looking distant, his eyes full of emotion. But when he looked up at us, he had to strain himself to keep it all from spilling out.

His gaze lowered to my hand in Paul's, and his expression went blanker.

I quickly dropped my hand and smiled awkwardly at Jesse. Paul seemed a bit annoyed, but was understanding.

'_Buenos dias_,' he said in a toneless voice. 'I . . . I trust you both slept well?'

His voice sounded forced, and rusted.

'Uh,' I said, 'fine – '

However, he cut this encounter extremely short. 'I'm going to go . . . to see Jack. In Carmel,' he added, his eyes darkening as they looked at me. But not . . . AT me. Just near me. He wasn't meeting my eyes. 'I shall come if you call, Susannah.'

'Jesse,' I said in a soft voice, but he hoaxed a smile, and dematerialized like he couldn't wait to get out of there.

I guess I couldn't blame him. Talk about awkward/

Paul's hand came to my shoulder. 'Hey,' he said. 'Stop that.'

'Stop what?' I asked.

'That look,' he said. 'You've got . . . that look you get. When you think something's your fault. It's not. So stop looking like that.'

I raised my eyebrows a little, still looking at where Jesse had disappeared from.

Why did hurting him hurt so much?

I feigned a different expression, and sighed. 'Sorry. Anyway . . . I need to get stuff from my room.'

The, um, fourth floor.

We were at the foot of the stairs, and I looked up them tiredly. I hadn't jogged this morning, because frankly, I was too tired. I felt worn out enough, and even the prospect of climbing stairs was daunting.

'I've got a better idea,' Paul said. He took his position behind me, his hands sliding to my waist. Then, the pair of us dematerialized. That split second of non-existence felt horrible. The feeling of insignificance was very uncomfortable. When I reappeared, Paul and I were in my room. He waited by the door, a serious expression on his face now. He wasn't making innuendoes anymore.

I think he was starting to realize the impact that Jesse was having on me.

I grabbed my stuff, noticing that once again, my underwear had been strewn across the bed. Seeing as I had certainly not left it there, I knew who the culprits obviously were. Paul mustn't have realized that it wasn't normal for my panties and brassieres to be spread out across my bed, because he made no comment.

Armed with a towel, a change of clothes, soap and a face washer, we walked to the nearest bathroom on that floor. The fourth floor was nothing like the third. The bathrooms on this floor were better, and had single showers in them, rather than the block of shower cubicles that Dani had been discovered in, downstairs. The big guys lived on the fourth floor. The people who mattered.

I had reason to believe that I was in Robin's room, actually . . .

I don't know why. It just felt like his. I knew that it was one of the Misforts' old rooms. But I could feel him the strongest.

Oh, my mistake. Not one of the Misforts'. Charlie's, Nathan's or Robin's. Bart was not on this floor.

He didn't have the money, or the power to reside on the fourth floor.

Meh. In the bathroom, I dumped my stuff on the counter near the basin, next to Paul's. Then, he went to the shower, outstretched an arm, and touched the tap with his hand, but didn't turn it.

He turned around, and regarded me with a humoured look.

'Hot, Suze?' he smirked.

I felt the very first blush heat up my face. I nodded a little, and his smirk turned wry. He twisted the 'hot' handle. I saw water descending, creaking a little at first. I realized suddenly that this was the shower that had spurted out blood that one time.

. . . Might not be cool not mention that to Paul. Mood breaker and all . . .

The water cascaded down, and eventually started to steam. Paul turned back to me, his smirk barely playing on his lips. He kept looking at my eyes. Even when he moved so he was standing right over me again, he looked at my eyes. He pulled down the zipper of my cardigan slowly till it hung open. His gaze finally fell to his fingers. His hands slid inside the shoulders of the cardigan, pushing it off of my arms. His fingers running down my arms made me shudder momentarily. I still had a black camisole on underneath, but already I was starting to feel insecure.

Taking a deep breath, I repeated a mantra in my head.

I. Can. Do. This. I can do this. IcandothisIcandothisIcandothis!

I pushed my hands to the edge of his shirt. I pushed it up. I could hear the water falling behind me in rhythmic, constant sound, and the heat was starting to diffuse throughout the bathroom. The corners of the extravagant mirror were getting slightly foggy, save the dust that already coated it.

Self-consciousness started trickling in once again. I didn't really want to – oh, but I _did_ . . .

My hands slid up his chest, his shirt hooked on my thumbs. He raised his arms and I pushed it off, over his head, and it fell noiselessly to the ground. MY eyes unavoidably lowered to gawk at the chest that was RIGHT in front of me.

. . . Holy crap. Grab the knife and fork, Susie's eatin' good tonight!

The never-ending contours of his abdomen were certainly a sight to behold, and behold just a little bit more for good measure. However, my view of pure masculine hotness was interrupted when _his_ hands worked the same moves on me.

Funny how that time when the Misforts had almost burnt me to a crisp after I attempted to exorcise them, Paul stopped them just in time before they annihilated me. In the process, he'd caught a peak at my bra, and I'd been HORRIBLY ashamed.

Yeah, funny all right, seeing as now I was standing right in front of him in one. The water was still running, hitting the tiled floor loudly, the only sound in the room beyond my increasingly fast breathing.

He tilted his head, his gaze falling lower again. His lips were parted. His iced eyes looked shadowed, and stormy. Like there were grey clouds passing over the muted blueness, concealing anything which threatened to be exposed.

This wasn't the darkness. This was the daylight, and he could see me.

My body, my faults, my bruises.

Moments later, the pair of us were both stark raving naked. I stepped into the shower, facing the wall, and he came behind me, his hands holding my hips. The water was hitting my shoulder, hard and hot. I sighed out a million and one burdens.

I didn't want to face him, though. Not yet. I felt too . . . weird.

There's something about being naked . . . it's complete and total exposure. There's a certain vulnerability involved, whether you're looking at your nude self in the mirror, or if you're naked in front of a live audience.

Either way, there's always someone judging.

When you're alone, you find yourself going under some intense self-criticism. I can handle that. I KNOW about my imperfections. But when someone else is there . . . well, they usually have no idea. They know you at face value. They don't know what you're really like underneath your clothes.

I was also kind of freaked about seeing Paul in the buff, too. I'm not saying he's ugly or anything . . . just the opposite, actually. But I don't think I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to see someone else in theirs.

And, as I've said, I HAVE NOT SHOWERED WITH SOMEONE WHO HAS A GUY-BIT BEFORE, OKAY?

Paul, however, had before. Not with GUYS or anything, I mean- I hope not with guys. You never know . . . maybe Paul was experimental in college?

WHAT IF I'M AN EXPERIMENT? Like that one time at school when he backed me into the pillar and tried to kiss me . . . JUST AN EXPERIMENT!

I need to chill out. Seriously.

I didn't know what to do. For the first few seconds, I just stood there letting the water pour down on me while Paul stood behind me. But I guess he realized that I must have been a partner-shower virgin, too, so he kind of turned me around to face him.

I didn't want to meet his eyes, but where else could I look? And besides, he'd tilted my chin upwards so I had no other choice but to face him.

He took my hand in his and held it palm up. He squirted some soap into my hand. He didn't break eye contact the entire time, and neither did I. It was like I was trapped in his icy gaze.

But no matter how chillingly blue his eyes were, I still felt hot. And not just because of the water, either.

He backed me up a little, and I felt the water saturate my hair completely, making it heavy and slick. I bowed my head as the water trickled either side of my face, not getting my eyes. Instead of rubbing my handful of soap over me, I pressed my palm against his chest and began circling it around. His eyelids were fluttering a little, and he breathed out noisily.

And he smiled.

I began dragging my hands so they were beyond his shoulders, grazing around his back. I kept having to have staggered breaths. The shower was more like a sauna. I mean, not only was the water hot, as I have already indicated, but well . . . THINGS were kind of hot.

I mean, the feel of his skin WHILE IT WAS WET AND KIND OF SOAPY was A LITTLE MORE THAN HOT, I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW.

This wasn't like giving a sponge bath to a toddler, folks. This was the big leagues.

It didn't take me long to figure out the rest of it. It was nothing I'd ever experienced before, but it felt like something natural. Something only pure instinct could guide me through.

Next, I went to pick up the shampoo, but Paul placed his hand on top of mine before I could reach it.

'Allow me,' he said, his words breathy. The steam caused the air to be a little heavy, so we had to adjust our breathing.

He took the shampoo and put it his hands and worked it into a rich lather. Then, he gently massaged my scalp with it. My head rolled back in pleasure, my eyes closed.

Paul had this way of changing the pressures of his hand that each movement caused my spine to tingle and my knees to buckle underneath me.

When he was done, he tilted my head back, letting the shampoo rinse out of my hair. The next thing I know, he'd placed his hand on the small of my back and arched me into him. I brought my head back up from the water and looked at him once more.

He smiled down at me, as usual. But then he took a few steps and backed me into the shower wall. The steam rose all around us as the water beat down fast and hard.

Once again, I won't go into TOO much detail on the effect that this was having on me. You young, impressionable little girls might get ideas that this is an okay thing to do with some random guy.

It's SO not. But with Paul, there, then, certain feelings towards him that were apparently reciprocated, made it more than okay.

More than okay . . . ha.

Understatement.

The shower wall was really cold at first, and was a blatant shock to my skin. But it got hotter.

Everything got hotter, with Paul.

. . . Okay . . . eww.

I ran my hands up and down his chest, as his fingers were pressing my lower back. When I got to his shoulders, I trailed fingers down his arms, before linking my hands behind his neck, and kissing him.

Water was trailing down between my mouth and his, but I didn't care. I could barely breath. The air was too suffocated with evaporating liquid and arousal.

My eyes were jammed closed, and I could feel his chest against mine. After the aggressive kiss, I broke off, trying to find SOME oxygen that would keep me functioning. He was pretty much doing the same thing. He leaned his forehead against mine, water streaming down his neck and proceeding down his chest, catching briefly on my outstretched hands. His skin felt like it was on fire.

He was looking at me intensely. I'd seen that look only twice before. When . . . um - that night before Dani was found, and surprisingly, directly after we'd danced at the club.

Only now did I recognize the look that he'd given me. You know, the one BEFORE he went around calling me Jesse's whore and stuff.

That look . . . that hungry look of want, of desire, of lust, of NEED.

He pressed me into the wall of the shower harder. It was cold on my back, but that didn't last for long. As things got, um, a little hotter and heavier, he made sure he put his hand behind my head so I wouldn't accidentally hit it on the wall as things heated up. The gesture was much appreciated, as I felt on several occasions that one or both of us would end up getting hurt. The surprising thing was, we didn't.

As he kissed my neck hungrily, I felt like I was going to slip from his arms into a puddle of blissful goo. It seemed like there was a chemical reaction between his lips, my skin, and the water raining down on us.

A reaction which was hard to explain and even harder to ignore.

I felt that my insecurities were being washed off of me. Off my body and down the drain, with the rest of the used water.

At one point, we thought the shower might better serve its purpose if we actually got clean.

Paul handed me the soap. 'Hold this, would you?' he asked after he had put some in his hand.

I took it in my hand and watched him work it into a lather. I thought he was going to clean himself off a little more, but instead he used the soap on my own body.

Let's just say, after a few moments of that, I ended up dropping the soap.

With shivering one could not anticipate in such heat, I grabbed both of his wrists and opened my eyes.

'Okay,' I said in a voice that was NOT mine, 'I think we've wasted enough water now.'

He smirked. 'Well considering I would have had a shower this long on my own, I still think we have to use up your shower time slot . . . '

We were both dripping from the boiling hot water.

I dragged my fingers through his hair, and he smiled lazily, closing his eyes. The heavy beating of the water on the tiles between our feet was a sound that I could have gotten very used to. One of his legs pressed between my own, and -

You know what? I believe I'm going WAY too far into this. Go away, allow me some privacy please.

Pfft . . . teenagers. Honestly.

Ten minutes later, he was still kissing me neck and I was breathing very hard, when the water stopped. I opened my eyes, and saw that he'd turned the shower off. The heat lingered, caressing me with warmth that I knew wouldn't last. He was still touching my body ardently, gently, with slow burning passion. The both of us were completely wet.

. . . Heehee.

I'm so immature.

Paul tickled his fingers along my navel, making my stomach collapse into itself. A broken giggle spurted out of my mouth, interrupted harshly by a gasp. He pressed his other hand against my hair, and I felt water coursing down my back, the excess that had been saturated into my mane.

Ha. I have a mane. I'm like a lion or something.

Rah.

With a final kiss on my lips, Paul stopped, smirking down at me. I was breathing hard. Again.

'Well, well, well, Ms Simon, you're looking very sexy at the moment,' he commented.

'Can't help it,' I quirked an eyebrow. 'Just happens, I guess.'

He laughed, and slid the shower door open. Yeah, the fourth floor? SLIDING SHOWER DOORS.

Whereas the THIRD floor had little locky doors that didn't even go the whole way down. Hence the tiles were pretty much all covered in water by the end of Shower Time at Fortunaschwein.

Gosh, I rhymed.

. . . Well, almost.

I grabbed my towel, and very quickly wrapped it firmly around me. Paul, however, took his time. He casually grabbed his, and then began mopping his face up, seeping a confidence that I wish I had. I looked away, flushed, and he laughed at me again.

'Shut up,' I said. 'No need to get cocky.'

'Too late,' he replied.

. . . Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I raised my eyebrows in disgust.

'Just happens, I guess,' he added.

I threw him a sarcastic look, as my heart thankfully began to slow. It went so fast when he touched me, that it was sometimes scary. Paul wrapped his towel loosely around his lower half, and then came and slid his arms around my waist from behind me.

He combed my wet hair aside with his index finger, and kissed my neck leisurely. Again with the heart rate increase.

Cardiologists all over the world must get a lot of female patients, thanks to Paul Slater.

Paul's lips on my skin were so . . . soft. And sensuous. They made me feel things that I care not to print.

'I love you,' he breathed in my ear. 'Now, I'm allowed to say it.'

I shivered in delight.

Paul noticed, and snickered against my neck. His fingers began dragging the bottom of my towel up, till he was able to run his hand down my thigh. My head lolled back against his shoulder.

Then he just stopped.

'What are they?' he asked, curiosity absorbed in his voice.

I looked in the direction of his gaze, quite annoyed he'd ended that so suddenly.

'Oh,' I said, as I caught sight of the corners of two envelopes sticking out of the pocket of my jeans that I'd been wearing, pre-shower. 'Nothing. Just something me and Jesse found yesterday. I haven't read them yet.'

Paul's hands, still firmly holding me, and very warm through the fluffiness of my towel, went still. 'Can we read them?'

'Sure,' I said dully.

Great. He finds letters more interesting than moi. That's complimenting.

He started for my jeans to retrieve the letters, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards me, adding, 'AFTER we get dressed.'

Paul held up his hands in a teasing retreat.

You're probably wondering . . . boxers or briefs?

God forbid he should go commando.

You know . . . lettin' it all hang out, wild and free –

_Boxers. _

Black ones also made by Calvin Klein. He actually kind of reminded me of one of their models. Except now I KNOW he doesn't stuff his boxer shorts to enhance his manhood. He doesn't need to.

WHAT?

Some of those men are of questionable size.

It's not NATURAL to have a package bigger than a baby's head. It's NOT.

Heh. At least Paul doesn't wear a thong.

. . . HAHAHAHA.

I shouldn't laugh, seeing as Dani's friend Miles probably does.

Oh yeah. Did I ever mention his last name?

I probably didn't, right.

It's Long.

His name is Miles Long.

I do not kid.

"Miles Long, could you please come to the principal's office? Miles Long?"

Poor kid.

Anyway . . . then there was simple ol' me, with my ever impeccable fashion sense. It's not Gucci or Prada, but my Seven Jeans boot-cuts were still very figure-flattering. Like the cotton commercial says, those were my "Turns butts to booty" jeans.

I paired that with this totally cute light green Juicy Couture tank top. Casual, yet designer.

By the time we turned back to page each other, we were both fully dressed. When I saw him again, I'm sorry, but I just started giggling.

He'd pulled on a pair of black Calvin Klein jeans and a very, VERY nice olive green button down Michael Kors shirt. He'd left the top two buttons unbuttoned, leaving his chest to peek out.

There _is_ a God.

'What?' he asked, his brows raised.

'Nothing,' I giggled. 'Just . . . this is so weird. Everything, I mean. It's – it's insane.'

'And so are you,' he acknowledged. 'But . . . I know what you mean.'

'Yeah,' I said quietly.

My hair was still wet, so my towel was around my shoulders. Paul turned around to my discarded jeans and extracted the two aged envelopes from my pocket. He put them both in HIS pocket, and then grabbed all of his stuff off of the floor.

'Now that I think about it,' he smirked at me, 'I don't think I'm out of soap. My mistake.'

He laughed at the very dirty look I threw him.

- 8 -

In the library, Paul sat on one of the plush green chairs, and pulled me onto his knees.

WHY did that stupid pick-up line flash through my mind?

_Why don't you sit on my lap, and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up?_

Pfft . . . Suze, keep it in your pants, okay?

My hair was drying a little by then. Even so, it wet the front of his shirt a little. Paul fished out one of the letters, and then encircled me with his arms as he slid his thumb along the envelope's flap, ripping it open carefully.

'You know who they were for?' Paul paused to ask me.

'The envelope's are blank,' I said. 'Me and Jesse found them in Mr Head's bedroom though.'

'What the hell were you doing in _there_?' Paul asked in some alarm. 'I hope you weren't getting too committed to this whole crime-solving thing, and decided to go undercover as a dominatrix or something to get –'

I elbowed him hard in the chest, and he laughed, choking on a cough at the same time.

'_No_,' I said pointedly. 'His _old_ bedroom. As in, at this school. NOT his house, dickweed.'

Paul's arms tightened around my waist a little. 'Okay, okay. So _touchy_ this morning, aren't we? One would think that you hadn't gotten any for a whole week, whereas I have it on good authority that you in fact, have.'

'Eat me,' I said snappishly.

'Can't wait to,' he assured.

'Just read the letter,' I told him. 'You know what?' I snatched it out of his hands, 'I will.'

'Hey – ' he made a grab for it, but I held it higher than his arm could reach. Resourcefully, he tickled me under my arm. With a yelp of horror, my hand shot back down, and he seized the letter back off of me.

'Oooh,' he grinned evilly. '_Someone's_ ticklish . . . '

'Don't you DARE,' I warned him in fury.

He dared.

By the time I'd managed to force his hands away from my overly sensitive sides and stop squirming around like a live worm on a fishing hook, he'd managed to shove the letter in his back pocket again.

'Are you going to quit it?' I demanded, 'Or not?'

'Not,' he said from behind me, before shoving me forward off of him, and then bringing me down so the pair of us were on the ground.

OW.

'Just let me read the God damned letter, Paul,' I glared.

'You had ages to look at it,' he gave me this infuriating smirk. 'But you didn't.' He started kissing me again, jamming my wrists against the floor.

Of course I kissed him back. For one, this time around, I actually LOVED him as much as wanted to kiss him.

That still didn't change the fact that I was now burning with curiosity at what the stupid letters said. I mean, yeah, I had forgotten about them. But now, the suspense was killing me.

However, Paul wasn't letting up.

He moved to my neck, and I gasped. NOT fair. 'Get off,' I snapped at him, 'We need to – _ohhhhh_ . . . '

May in reinforce that Paul is a VERY good kisser?

He sucked lightly against the skin over my throat. 'You smell like that shampoo,' he whispered with a grin.

Thank God he put the "sham" in front of it.

I don't think any girl would appreciate the guy on top of her telling her she smelt like poo.

'That does NOT change the fact that I have told you to g – ' I began, but he let go of my hands, and slid his own beneath by back, arching me against him, still kissing my neck and whatever wasn't covered on my chest.

It felt incredible. I can't even DESRIBE how incredible it felt.

However, I then realized that my wrists had been released. Trying to ignore the pleasure pulsing through my veins, I very carefully guided my hand to his back pocket. However, the moment I'd touched the tip of the page, Paul's hand clapped over mine rapidly.

'Nice try, Simon,' he leered. He sat up a little over me, holding my elbows down. I couldn't reach his pocket, damn it.

'Look,' I said. We might as well have still been in the shower. It was just as hard to breathe here, as it was in there. 'This is a _library_. It's for – for EDUCATING, not – ' he ran his hands over my stomach, ' – not . . . um . . . _copulating_.'

He stopped, and then completely cracked up.

I turned a perfect shade of red.

You know what? I shall no longer say "See ya later" to Paul. I shall say "Cop ya later."

. . . Think about it.

_Cop ya later, Paul Slater._

God, I'm so funny.

Not.

Paul tried to stop laughing. He did try. But he looked down at me again, and kept sniggering.

With narrowed eyes, I whipped my hand out and snapped up the letter from his pocket.

The minute he noticed, I had already read the first line.

_Dear Mrs. Abigail Head._

'Hey – ' Paul said, but with a blank face, I shushed him. 'What?' he asked slowly. 'Read it out, Simon.'

By the time I got to the second line of skimming, I had blanched.

'Shit,' I said.

'Read it,' Paul urged me.

I did.

'"Dear Mrs. Abigail Head",' I read aloud.

_We regret to inform you that your husband is in a relationship with another woman. She is the Deputy Headmistress at Fortunaschwein Boarding School for Boys. Her name is Karen la Rosa. She's married, is twenty eight, and teaches English. This affair has been going on for some time now, and are showing no sign of ending their trysts. We believed that you should know about it._

_You deserve better than Richard Head. _

_Yours in sympathy,_

_Anonymous._

I moved the letter down from my face, and looked up at Paul. He looked very grave indeed.

'Why do I get the feeling that we weren't supposed to see that?' I asked in a small voice.

Why the hell would THAT letter be in MR HEAD'S ROOM?

Paul, _still_ astride my lower half, looked pensive. He dug out the other envelope, and handed it to me. 'Read that one, too.'

I ripped the letter out, and spoke in a steady voice . . .

'"Dear _Sir_".'

When I was through with that one too, I lowered the page.

'I get it now,' I said quietly.

Paul narrowed his eyes in confusion. 'Get what?'

I blinked, trying to comprehend it all, and process the evidence that backed my theory. 'I know how the Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein died.'

Paul nodded. 'Read it again.'

"'Dear _Sir._

The letter is written. One word out of you and we'll drop the bomb on your wife. Get us into the colleges we all want, and we'll stay quiet. Expel us, and you're reputation is shot. And everyone knows how important your reputation is. Your stupid school is in our hands. Do anything to pique us and Fortunaschwein goes down the drain.

For your reference:

_Charles Austin: Yale._

_Nathaniel Blake: Harvard._

_Robin Lawrence: Princeton._

Just so you don't get confused as to who WILL be attending where.

All we can say is, we do hope that you little indiscretion with Mrs. La Rosa was worth all of this commotion. Such a pity that we caught the pair of you. A word of the wise, _sir_: Choose better places for your love making.

Also, in future, never underestimate the three of us. We have the money and the power to crush you and your reputation, and you'll do well to know that. Refer to us no longer by our last names. It's _Mr._ Lawrence from now on.

How we pity your wife for every being so foolhardy as to marry the likes of you. What an obscenely bad judge of character on her part. Divorce is an unfortunate history for a man to have. On that note, let us hope that you cooperate and do as we've asked.

Yours sincerely,

_Mr._ Lawrence,

_Mr._ Austin,

_Mr._ Blake".'

I was completely gobsmacked. 'Oh my God,' I said. 'It was so OBVIOUS . . . '

Paul moved off of me, and grabbed my hands to help me up. 'I think we need to pay our three friends a visit, don't you say?'

I got to my feet. 'Definitely.'

Two letters in one hand, and Paul's fingers in my other, we dematerialized to the fourth floor of Fortunaschwein.

'I'm right here,' he assured me, the moment that he saw me tense. 'They won't do what happened last time.'

'No – ' I stammered, 'Just – um . . . nothing.'

He turned to face me. 'Tell me.'

I shrugged. 'The three of them didn't exactly . . . help, when Cole was here.'

Paul frowned. 'You expected them to?'

'No,' I said quickly, 'I mean . . . I would have gotten out, but the Robin had to grab me and _shove me_ into Cole again when he SO knew what was going to happen to me when he did and deserves to go to hell now and I guess I just didn't think he was capable of being _that_ much of an asshole – you know, to practically GIVE me to someone who wanted to . . . do bad things to me – but he DID and I dunno – '

'He _what_?' Paul 's eyes flashed in anger.

I shook my head. 'It doesn't matter. It wasn't anything less than I could expect from someone like him.'

Paul looked away in outrage. 'I'm going to _kill_ those little pindicks . . . '

I saw in his eyes, that he wasn't just talking about yesterday.

That only added insult to what they'd done to Dani . . .

'They're already dead,' I pointed out flatly.

His eyes met mine again. He stared at me. The rage deteriorated a little, but not completely. 'Come on, Suze,' he said. 'We're going to sort this out.'

As we neared the attic, I could smell the strong stench of fresh smoke. The fire from the other day stank badly. I would have asked how the Misfortunates could have STOOD to be in that room, what with that PONG, but then I realized that they didn't have to smell it if they didn't want to.

They were dead.

And now I knew why.

_And_ how.

Paul shoved the attic door open, we climbed the barely intact stairs, my hand in his. He squeezed my fingers when he reached the top of the steps, and his face went void of all compassion.

'Oh look, boys. The suit's paying a visit,' I heard the heartless drawl of Robin Lawrence sound in my ears.

There was some sniggering, which stopped when I came to stand beside Paul. Robbie's smirk slid off of his face.

The three of them – Bart was not present – went very silent.

'I thought you were gone,' he glared at me.

'You thought wrong,' I replied dryly.

His nasty look softened, and moulded into a sinister sneer once more as he looked me over. 'Oh well,' he shrugged. 'Waste not, want not . . . you look nice, Susie. Can't say your hair's doing anything for me at the moment, however.'

I HADN'T BLOWDRIED IT YET, OKAY? _GOD_.

I, angrily, said, 'Listen. We just want to talk. Nothing funny.'

'Oh so you WON'T try to exorcise us this time?' Nathan cocked his head.

I shook mine. 'We won't if you behave yourselves.'

That must have struck a little nerve. You know, the fact that we were older than them, and they WERE still students.

They never made it to graduation, you see.

Charlie nodded towards Paul. 'Lose him, and we shall talk to you.'

'Are you high?' Paul asked derisively. 'I'm not going _anywhere_.'

Thin-lipped, Robbie turned his eyes back to me. 'What do you want, Susie?'

I brushed the half-dry locks of hair away from my face. 'Well,' I started, 'Just to say that . . . um . . . we know – we – '

'We know how you died,' Paul finished for me. 'At least, Suze does.'

The three of them sat up VERY straight with THAT little revelation.

'Oh,' Nathan raised an eyebrow delicately, attempting to look uninterested. 'You do, do you?'

I nodded. 'Yes. Mr Head murdered you, didn't he?'

- 8 -

**Review.**

**It'll all be explained next chapter.**


	29. Vengeance

Happy Independence Day, American peoples!

Hayley, I'm sorry! I – I was so BORED!

Thanks to Steph and Alyson.

**- 8 -**

'_**We know how you died,' Paul finished for me. 'At least, Suze does.'**_

_**The three of them sat up VERY straight with THAT little revelation.**_

'_**Oh,' Nathan raised an eyebrow delicately, attempting to look uninterested. 'You do, do you?'**_

_**I nodded. 'Yes. Mr Head murdered you, didn't he?'**_

**- 8 -**

The three of them sucked in a breath that was undeniably unnecessary.

'_Get out_,' Robin growled violently.

I had them. I SO had them.

I smiled a little. 'Oh. So I am right?'

The black, charred, smoky room got darker, as all the burnt furniture started shaking. Paul moved closer to me, looking around warily.

Nathan and Charlie looked at each other angrily, then at me. And, I guess, that was how I really knew I had hit the nail on the head.

'How?' I asked the three of them.

'You think we _know_?' Robin shot at me acidly. 'We just know it was_ him _–'

'Because you were blackmailing him,' I said bluntly.

In all truth, that's exactly what they were doing. They had something to scorch Mr. Head's reputation…but they ended up being the ones to get burned. Talk about karma.

'Suze,' Paul warned under his breath in my ear, 'Easy.'

'You know how deeply he hated us?' Nathan demanded, standing next to Robin furiously. 'He was _not_ going to let us graduate. We _had_ to take matters into our own hands.'

'So you went and hunted around for dirt, and you found out he was bonking your English teacher?' I raised my eyebrows.

Charlie jabbed his finger at me. 'How do YOU know this?'

'Yeah,' Robin crossed his arms, his dark eyes narrowed at me. 'That's what I'd like to know.'

Oh, come ON. Was I THAT helpless looking? Sure it took a while, but with a little detective work (and, of course, a little help from Jesse) I figured it out. I could just as easily put two and two together just as plain as they saw their English teacher with the Head.

'Letters,' Paul said simply. 'One to Mrs. Head, one to Mr Head.' I could just HEAR it in his voice. He was trying, very hard, to keep his cool.

Which was hard, seeing at the three boys before him had apparently raped and murdered his girlfriend. Or, um, ex-girlfriend. I wasn't quite sure how Paul had felt about Dani or what he'd been thinking about her at the time of her death. I knew they were on the rocks, but I didn't know if they were officially off.

Then again, at the time of her death, I doubted that he was really thinking with his brain, so much as another notorious part of his anatomy.

Whatever. It doesn't matter now. All that really did matter was solving this.

The three of them exchanged stiff glances.

'You mean – her one never got _sent_?' Nathan asked, horrified. He turned to Robin angrily. 'We planned it all out, Robbie! You told me she got it!'

'I thought she HAD!' Robin shoved him back. 'Don't blame ME – '

'Hey, HEY,' I snapped. 'Shut up. So what happened then, the night you died?'

Charlie's deep brown face stared at me menacingly. 'We were up here. And then the fire started, and the door slammed, and we started shouting, and the squirt was screaming down the stairs, and the fire continued to grow – '

'Charlie, CAN IT!' Robin whipped around to him, his eyes flashing. Charles was slammed against the wall with the power of his rage. 'Don't tell them ANYTHING. They want us out of here, remember?'

'I wonder _why_,' I glared. 'Seeing as the only way you occupy your time is attacking the living, and killing off members of our agency.'

Robin took a hasty step toward me, but Paul stepped in front of me instinctively. '_Don't_,' he threatened.

Robbie stopped, glaring elsewhere.

Nathan eyed me in ire, and Charlie stood up, brushing off his unruly school uniform angrily, shooting daggers at Robin, whose gaze was locked on Paul hatefully.

I ducked beneath Paul's arm, much to his annoyance. 'No, seriously,' I continued like we were having a conversation about which sanitary napkins were most effective, 'You're not supposed to be here. Everyone in this room knows that. So, I'm wondering. What WILL it take for you to move on? What, an apology from Mr Head?'

'We BELONG here,' Robbie spat at me, 'We DIED here, and we OWN this school, and you can't do a DAMNED thing to – '

He broke off suddenly.

'An apology?' he asked, his eyes alight.

I nodded quickly. YES. SCORE. _LE SUZE_ WAS FINALLY GETTING THROUGH.

He twisted around to look at the other two guys.

'A _verbal_ apology?' Nathan asked.

I shrugged. 'Sure. It . . . it can be arranged.'

All I had to do was get Mr. Head to agree to it. That wouldn't be so hard.

. . . Would it?

Nathan's lips twisted into a wide grin. He slid his hand out to Charles and Robin, and they both gave him a high five.

'Fine,' Robin said, stepping ahead of the both of them, his expression still looking dark even with the added levity of the moment. 'We'll hear his apology.'

'And then you'll leave?' I asked hopefully. 'You'll be able to move on?'

Robin didn't answer me. Instead he wore a copy of the grin on Nathan's face. Only, when he wore the look, he looked twenty times more sinister.

'I'll bring him right over,' I said.

YES! I was so excited. It felt so simple. After all the destruction they caused, the one thing that would send them off was an apology from their former Headmaster. Who knew?

Paul, obviously, was having some sort of misgiving, because he grabbed my upper arm with his hand and pulled me back to him.

'What are you doing?' he hissed into my ear.

'Hello? Where have you been the past minute?' I asked sassily. 'All we have to do is get Mr. Head to apologize, and they're gone.'

I tried to shrug Paul's arm off casually, but instead he gripped it tighter.

'What makes you think it'll be that easy?' he asked, making sure his voice was really low so the Misforts couldn't overhear.

Honestly, I couldn't answer that question the way I wanted to because he kind of had me there.

'We have to be careful, Suze,' Paul continued when he saw that I had nothing to add.

'Careful?' I laughed. 'Aren't we usually?'

I mean, we used a condom and everything.

Paul didn't grace me with a response. Instead, he just let out a sigh and let go of my arm.

Finally, I felt like I was catching a well-deserved break. After all of this complication and death, things were starting to look up. For the agency AND for me.

Too bad it wasn't as easy as I expected.

- 8 -

CeeCee came with me. I mean, Paul was GOING to, but there was a call from the hospital, saying that Father Dom wanted to talk to one of us. While it was quite an inappropriate time for a chit chat, I suggested that Paul go and tell Father Dom everything that was happening. Of course, he was NOT happy with that arrangement, and he wanted me to go instead so he could go and drag Dick's sorry ass over to the school, but I said a very firm no. He told me that Cee and Adam could go and talk to him, but once again, I patiently explained that only he and I knew what was going on, and at least ONE of us would have to be there to recount the information correctly to our priestly buddy. Angry with me, he took Adam and they both left for the hospital.

Men. HONESTLY . . .

So CeeCee and I piled in her car and hit the road. It had been a long time since Cee and I had had some quality "girl time" to ourselves. You know, with her being permanently attached at the hip with Adam and all.

We were both intent on making the most of it, so before we headed out to the Dick Headquarters, we stopped at a nearby 7-11 for two jumbo-sized Slurpees. We turned on the radio and cranked up the oldies for our listening pleasure, singing along as loudly as possible.

'You know what sucks?' I asked CeeCee, as we were jamming out to some Beach Boys.

'What? I can't hear you.'

'I said, "You know what sucks?"' I repeated, turning down the volume on the radio a bit.

'That we're girls and we can't even hit the high notes that Brian Wilson can?' CeeCee asked.

'No,' I giggled, taking a sip of my Slurpee. 'What sucks is that you never got to have a bachelorette party. You know, before you tied the knot with Adam.'

'A bachelorette party?' CeeCee asked, in disbelief. 'Like, with a male stripper and crazy drinking games?'

'I don't know,' I replied. 'I hadn't really been to a real bachelorette party before. Except for my mom's before she married Andy, but all we did was eat a fancy dinner. My mom got presents, too. But nothing juicy like frilly lingerie. More like monogrammed napkins and stuff.'

'Like any of us need a male stripper,' CeeCee almost snorted her Slurpee out through her nose.

'What's that supposed to mean?' I asked, a little defensively.

'Well, I have Adam and, well, you have Paul – '

'I do N - ' I looked kind of psycho. 'W-what do you mean?'

CeeCee raised her eyebrows at me, running through a red light. Meh. There was no one else on the road for ages. 'Last night. I mean, I heard you shouting at Jesse. You were kind of loud, Simon. And you totally said you loved Paul, don't deny it. Our car wasn't THAT far away from you. So yeah, back to the point, you have Paul - who is a lot better than any male stripper you could ever hire, right?'

I blushed a little.

'So you two are back on track?' CeeCee asked. 'Because I'm almost sure that, in my sleepiness, I saw the two of you go back into the very same car together.'

'Um,' I said. Okay, this was weird. I mean, back on track? Had we even BEEN on track before?

. . . I didn't really think so. Only now were things STARTING to get on track . . .

'I guess,' I mumbled. I checked my watch. It was almost ten o'clock.

CeeCee looked sideways at me, her eyes half-hidden behind her tinted purple Ray Bans. Her hair was looking radiant in the daylight. 'What happened to you, by the way? I mean, I know that shifters can be kind of stronger than usual, but you've been kind of knocked around. Is Paul REALLY that rough in bed, or are you just cl - '

'That wasn't Paul,' I said a little too quickly.

. . . DOH.

CeeCee blinked repeatedly. 'The Misfortunates?' she asked.

'Um,' I said again. 'No.'

CeeCee was alarmed. 'Don't tell me JESSE did that,' she inspected my face in horror. 'I mean, I know you apparently broke up with him and all - '

'NO,' I exploded, 'GOD no.'

'How did it happen, Simon?' CeeCee's tone became demanding and gruff. 'Just tell me.'

'No.'

'Simon . . . '

'Just - it's all sorted out now, he's getting charged and everything for it - '

CeeCee slammed on the brake.

'Are you talking about that COLE guy?' she asked, her voice shrill and aghast.

I muttered something under my breath.

'Yes.'

Plopped in the smack-bang middle of the road, CeeCee turned to me furiously, and started touching my face. I winced. 'You didn't tell me, WHY?'

'You just got married!' I said in my defence. 'Why the hell would I say something like THIS to you when you just became Mrs Adam McTavish?'

'Because I'd want to know,' CeeCee said, kind of passionately. 'I care about you, Suze. You - you shouldn't _keep_ stuff like that from me . . . '

Feeling bad, I looked down. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'Just . . . you were so happy, and I didn't want to spoil anything . . . '

CeeCee looked perturbed. 'God,' she said. She shook her head at me. Then she leaned over and hugged me tightly. I hugged back, starting to feel small again. And emotional.

'When?' she asked. 'I mean . . . how did it happen?'

'Uh,' I said, 'He came when you and Adam went to take Jack back - and get hitched - and when Paul went to pick up autopsy reports on Dani - 'WHICH I STILL HAVE NOT SEEN OR HEARD ABOUT - 'and . . . yeah. He started . . . getting physical. But - ' I said quickly, 'I TOTALLY managed to blast him away, twice. So kudos to me. Paul came back and rang the police on him. Thank God . . . he was really close to - '

I stopped talking when I saw her face. 'I'm fine,' I assured her.

She still looked kind of hurt. 'Never EVER not tell me something like that again, okay Simon?'

'You used double negatives,' I pointed out to Miss Journalist herself. 'Shame on you.'

'Don't try to change the subject,' CeeCee scolded me.

'Fine,' I sighed, staring at my Slurpee. 'I promise.'

CeeCee looked satisfied as she flashed me a smile. Her teeth were white and pearly, the only thing whiter than her skin. She really did have a gorgeous smile. I mean, she always did, but it used to be hidden behind all that metal. And now that it was gone, she was even more gorgeous.

'With that said, you'll have to tell me: how's Slater in the sack?'

'CeeCee!'

'What?' she asked innocently. 'You promised you would tell me everything. So come on, spill. I want details.'

'Just drive.'

We were starting to get closer to the Headquarters. CeeCee twisted her head at me expectantly. 'Well?' she asked.

I shrugged. 'That's none of your business, Mrs McTavish.'

'Is so. Come on, the whole senior class wanted to know what Paul Slater was like in bed. We were all horny, hormonal sixteen/seventeen year olds after all. And while I remain immune to this apparent Slater charm, you do not, and I want to know if it is because of any superb sexual skills that have won you over.'

'I really want to kill you and make it look accidental,' I assured her.

'Oh, I know,' she smiled dizzily. 'Well?'

Now that I wasn't making something up, I felt really awkward. I mean . . . how was I supposed to know how good Paul was? I couldn't exactly compare him to anyone else, right? He made me FEEL amazing, but - wait, isn't that enough?

'Good,' I said. ' . . . _Really_ good.'

'I knew it,' she smiled victoriously. 'So no one can blame me for any adulteress activity on my part where Paul Slater is concerned, okay?'

'You wouldn't cheat on Adam if your life was threatened,' I goaded her.

She smiled. ' . . . True,' she reasoned. 'He is my HUSBAND after all.' Then she started giggling. 'God, I feel so OLD saying that. Husband. Husband and wife. Married. MRS McTavish. I'm not a Ms. anymore, Suze,' she sighed. 'Gah. God, I can't say how happy I am though.'

'You don't need to,' I assured her. 'We can all tell.'

She beamed at me. 'Really?'

'Yep,' I said. 'It's obvious to everyone that you're an old married hag.'

She scowled at me.

'Next thing you know, you'll trade in this car for a minivan to haul all ten kids to their soccer games,' I teased.

'Ten? Oh, God. That'd be eleven if you counted Adam.'

'That's not the worst of it,' I continued on prophetically. 'You'll probably end up wearing oversized tee-shirts and ugly patterned leggings.'

CeeCee laughed uncomfortably at the thought. Oh, she laughs NOW. She won't be laughing when she's debating between Luv's or Huggies.

When I was a bouncing baby brat, I had no-brand diapers, and I turned out okay.

. . . Yeah, Suze. A grown woman who sees the dead.

Hey, maybe THAT'S what went wrong with me. Mum's choice in diapers, I mean. If I had have had diapers that DIDN'T restrict on my toddler hiney, MAYBE I wouldn't have been able to talk to ghosts.

It's all mum's fault.

After long last, CeeCee pulled up at the extravagant Headquarters. She parked the car, and we both sat there for a moment.

'So,' I said. 'You ready?'

'Sure am,' she grinned.

I raised my eyebrows. 'It's really not something to get excited about, CeeCee. We're going in there, making him spill the beans, and we're coming out. Have you got it in your purse though?'

'What?' she asked.

'That . . . thing,' I blinked at her meaningfully.

'OH,' she said in realisation. 'Yeah, that. It's all set.'

'Right,' I muttered. We both exited the car, and climbed up to the front door of Mr Head's humble home.

Snort.

Humble my _armpit_.

I knocked on the door, loudly and confidently. It had a doorbell, but I hate doorbells. A few seconds went by, until I heard a flurry of footsteps, and a smiling Abigail Head opened the door.

'Oh,' she said cheerfully, 'You again! Come in, come in . . . '

Crap. SHE was home. Okay . . . this would be harder than I thought.

'Um,' I said, 'Thank you.'

She looked more than happy to have company. 'Can I get you anything?'

'Er,' I said, 'Is Mr Head home?'

She blinked a little, looking put out. 'No, dear,' she tutted apologetically. 'He won't be a moment - he's coming home early from work today. Poor Richard hates his work,' she said in an undertone. 'Sometimes I wish he were still working at that school. He always used to come home smiling, in the holidays.'

That would be because he was getting some from the English teacher.

'Hmm,' I said. 'So . . . he liked his job?'

'Oh yes,' she gushed. 'Well . . . there were a few boys that he wasn't completely fond of. Sometimes he'd come home and just rant,' she said expressively. She guided us into the lounge room. 'I'll get you tea?'

'Uh - ' I said, but CeeCee firmly said, 'Yes, that would be great.'

Mrs Head looked pained. 'Excuse me, dear, I've completely forgotten your name. I know you're Suze,' she nodded at me, 'But . . . gosh, remind me?'

'CeeCee,' Cee smiled. 'CeeCee McTavish.'

We both grinned at each other.

'Aaah,' Mrs Head said. 'CeeCee. But . . . I could have sworn your last name was d - '

'I got married yesterday,' CeeCee said very proudly.

Abigail looked thrilled. 'Oh goodness, congratulations! That's lovely! Oh, you make sure your fellow treats you right,' she said with cheerful severity. 'Marriage isn't . . . it isn't always wonderful.'

Hmm. Especially when your husband is boning his employee.

Mrs Head bustled off to make tea, while CeeCee yanked me down next to her on the couch. 'Okay,' she said, 'What's going on? You keep looking all sympathetic to her, you know something I don't, right?'

'Uh huh,' I said under my breath in her ear. 'Mr Head was fooling around when he was the principal.' I started to explain about the letters briefly. 'That's why I DON'T want her here when we start cross-examining Dicky H. So I don't know, maybe you can . . . what, distract her or something while I drop Le Bomb?'

'No,' she scolded, 'I'm SO staying. We'll figure something - '

'How many sugars, Suze?' she called.

'Two,' I yelled.

'None for me, Abigail,' CeeCee shouted after me. 'Suze,' she muttered, 'So what you're saying is . . . Mr Head killed the Misfortunates?'

I nodded gravely, but pulled away when Mrs Head came back in, smiling. She handed me my mug. Her hair looked all wispy and dainty. She really was a very pretty woman, even if she was like, seventy or something. And I saw the photo of her in Mr Head's bedroom. She was a hot babe when she was younger. You know, in that Snow White kinda way. Her hair used to be blond or something. I couldn't tell - it was a black and white photo - but it was definitely very light.

After giving CeeCee her mug, she sat in her recliner, relishing the fact that she was playing the perfect hostess. She was all smiles. I guess that Mr Head didn't let her have friends over much.

My loathing of him intensified even more. Here was this perfectly SWEET lady, and he had to go screwing around elsewhere.

And you could tell that Abigail was not a happy person. Her smiles were affectionate, and even though they definitely reached her eyes, when she wasn't smiling, she looked sad. And lonely.

'So,' I blew on the tea, and sipped. It was wonderful. She made it perfectly. She probably HAD to, living with Richard Head and all. 'Er . . . how'd you meet Mr Head then?'

Looking a little lost, she shrugged. 'Oh,' she smiled half-heartedly, 'We . . . we were very young things. He was rather dashing in my day. Charming fellow,' she said, looking as if she were trying to convince herself that. 'We met down in Gilroy, and he asked me to marry him when I was twenty.'

She looked up at the roof. 'I certainly was a silly thing,' she said quietly.

I breathed in, and then out. CeeCee looked at me over her mug.

'He started working at Fortunaschwein,' she went on, clasping her hands together. I bet she was wishing she'd made herself tea as well. She looked like she wanted to have something to do with her hands. 'As a History teacher. Then he became the principal, and . . . and he wasn't home very much,' she said a little sadly. 'Occasionally he'd invite me to stay at the school some nights, but . . . but not often.'

I got the feeling that Mrs Head hadn't said this to anyone before. In fact, she looked far away. Like she NEEDED to say it.

Even though I hadn't expected a life story, I stayed silent.

'Sometimes I just wished he'd come home,' Abigail sighed. 'And stay. Selfish of me, I know . . . but he worked all the time, and - and we hardly ever saw each other. For years,' she added softly.

. . . God.

'I missed him,' she blinked quickly. 'And . . . now that he does come home more, sometimes I wish that he was still working at the school, because he's always so _cranky_ and - '

Her eyes lost the glazed look. 'My goodness,' she said in horror, 'What am I saying?' She stood up rapidly, brushing down her skirt. 'I'm sorry, Suze, CeeCee, I - you don't want to hear that, especially you, CeeCee, just getting married and all - '

'We don't mind,' I said quickly. 'I mean . . . it doesn't sound like you have many people to talk to.'

She turned back to us, and I saw that her eyes were looking wet. 'No,' she said firmly, 'I'm . . . I'm being silly. Would you like biscuits with your tea?'

'No,' CeeCee said, 'No thank you. You can keep talking. Suze and I can listen. It's okay.'

Looking a little scared of herself, she just stood next to the recliner, helplessly. 'I - ' she began, 'I don't think that Richard really lo - '

However, if she'd been about to say anything private, she cut herself off immediately when the door opened loudly and harsh footsteps came in.

'Who's here, Abigail?' Mr Head demanded gruffly.

Terrified, Mrs Head wafted over to the entrance area, 'Oh, you're home, Richard, hello - '

'There's a car outside,' Mr Head growled. 'It had better not be those blasted - '

CeeCee and I went and stood out in the entrance as well. 'Hey, Mr Head,' I said coldly.

Seeing him there, standing tall over his chubby, short wife, suddenly made me MAD. Right from his balding grey-white hair, down to his polished black shoes, make me boil with hate and disgust.

This guy was a philanderer. He was a murderer. He was a DICK HEAD.

Dick Head by name, Dick Head by nature.

He snorted in anger. 'What have I told you about harassing my wife?' he snapped rudely.

I rolled my eyes. Because I suddenly KNEW that I was not only better than him, but I had the dirt on him like he wouldn't believe. He was my silly putty.

'We haven't been harassing your wife,' I said cynically. 'We had a cup of tea, didn't we Abigail?' She nodded, looking too eager to cover up that she'd been ragging on him behind his back. It was as if she was scared that he'd overheard, somehow . . .

'What do you want?' Mr Head glared at me. 'After what you did to my graveyard, I think I've had it up to _here_ with you lot - '

'FIRSTLY,' I interrupted furiously, 'A little sympathy would be nice, considering one of the members of our agency died and everything.'

Abigail sucked in a sharp breath of shock. 'Oh my gosh,' she said faintly, her eyes widened. 'Oh my - '

'The press said it was suicide,' Mr Head sniffed. 'I have no control over and mental issues that any of my employees may or may not have.'

A white hot rage flickered within me, and before I could stop myself, I had punched him.

'ARGH!' he roared, falling back, and Mrs Head looked scared.

'Suze!' CeeCee said in both alarm and approval.

'She's right to do so,' Abigail said shakily, as if not daring to believe that she was talking. 'You - you shouldn't SAY such things, Richard - '

'THE LOT OF YOU ARE FIRED,' Mr Head screamed at me, getting up and looking like he very much so wanted to hit me right back. 'Get OUT of my house!'

'NOT,' CeeCee said angrily, totally rooting for the whole punch thing, 'until we've had a chat, Mr Head.'

'Yeah, _Richard_,' I said snidely.

Mr Head took a bold step up to me, towering over me. The jerk WAS tall, after all. He was holding his jaw in pain and frenzied anger. 'I just told you to get OUT - '

'Mrs La Rosa wants her panties back,' I said.

That made him pale.

Bewildered, Mrs Head asked, ' . . . What?'

I looked around at her. Thank God she had no clue what I had just said.

Mr Head, however, heard my meaning loud and clear.

'Abigail,' he said, his voice COMPLETELY different, sounding almost alien, 'Go.'

'What's going on - ?'

'GO,' Mr Head spat at her.

In a gentler voice, I said to her, 'Your probably should go. We need to have a nice little talk with your hubby.'

Looking a little disorientated, Mrs Head stared at all of us. Mr Head shoved his car keys at her, and shoved her in the direction of the door. 'Leave, Abigail.'

'Hey, would you mind not PUSHING her?' I snapped. 'And you say WE harass your wife.'

He didn't say a word to me. Mrs Head slowly left the house, upset and confused. When Richard Head finally took his hand away from his jaw, I was pleased to see that it was red.

'So,' I said conversationally to Mr Head. 'Nice day, huh?'

'What do you know about Karen?' Mr Head hissed at me. 'If she's told you anything, it's lies.'

I dug the letters out of my pocket. CeeCee also stuck her finger in her purse discretely, and I heard a small click.

I saw his eyes widen unintentionally, as he tried to look undisturbed.

'Dear Mrs. Abigail Head. We regret to inform you that your husband is - '

'WHERE did you get that!' Mr Head exploded. 'They . . . no . . . '

I snickered a little. 'What? Remind you of anything, do that?'

Fiercely, he met my gaze again. His face was starting to go kind of purple. Again, he took what he thought was an intimidating step up to me. 'Get out of my house or I'll call the police,' he threatened.

I turned around and looked at the phone on the wall. 'Oh, that?' I asked. I walked over to it, and kicked it off the wall. CeeCee started giggling, TOTALLY breaking the mood.

Pfft. Can't take her anywhere, honestly . . .

'Oops,' I said. 'Phone broke.'

He blanched.

'Sit down, Mr Head,' I advised him coolly.

He shuffled down the entrance hallway, and into a room which looked like the bar room. It was STACKED with wine bottles. Hundreds. Everything was flawlessly and classily presented, screaming out RICH BITCH! even more so than Paul's house.

He sat on one of the bar chairs, looking very white.

'I have nothing to say about those letters,' Mr Head said quickly. 'I - their contents is merely four foolish boys and their trickery. I - I confiscated them because they were - '

'Four?' I asked. 'There's only three on here.'

He blinked guiltily. 'Oh, really . . . ? I see . . . '

I smirked at CeeCee. 'Lights, Cee?'

She giggled again, and flipped the switch. The bar room went dark. Mr Head jumped a little.

'So, Mr Head,' I said slowly, slyly, planning to enjoy myself, 'Richard . . . can I call you Richard? Or . . . _Dick_?' I added with a cunning grin.

'MR Head will do,' he snapped at me. 'Respect your elders, young lady.'

'Oh, I only respect my betters,' I retorted. 'And seeing as I haven't killed anyone yet, I believe that makes me better than you.'

He choked on his saliva.

'I have NO idea what you're talking about, girl,' he glared furiously. I looked at his hands. They were shaking. God, I'm good . . . teehee. I looked back up at his face. He kept looking at the door. CeeCee noticed this, and stepped beside me, blocking the way. Mr Head THEN kept glancing at the wine bottle in front of him, which was half full. Heh. I guess now was a nice little time to start drinking. Perhaps we could get him to talk more easily if he was tipsy on his stupid million dollar vodka . . . ?

Or not.

'I was just wondering,' I went on lazily, 'Why you never told us where you worked, Dick.'

'You never asked,' he replied stiffly. 'I believe I told you to call me Mr Head.'

CeeCee giggled again. 'Dick suits you better,' she said.

Not that you have one, though.

'So,' I said, 'Your job. You were the _head_master at an all boy's school, and isn't it SUCH a coincidence, it's the one we've been WORKING at for the past week. Wow, how the hell did THAT happen?' I asked animatedly at him.

'It wasn't relevant information,' he glowered. 'It still isn't. You were hired because I thought that you would get the ghosts out of my school, and that is all.'

'You believe in ghosts, do you, Dick?' I raised my eyebrows. 'Seen one? _Known_ someone who sees them?'

CeeCee looked at me curiously, as if to say, where-are-you-going-with-this?

It was a hunch. Shut up.

No,' Mr Head said a little too loudly.

'You weren't a very good principal, were you,' I observed. 'Not many of the guys liked you, did they?'

'I was very well respected, I'll have you know,' he spat at me. 'So mind what you say, girl, or - '

'Or you'll call the police on your broken phone,' I nodded. 'I know, I know.'

'Some people wouldn't mind their own business,' he explained angrily, 'That's all any argument between myself and a student was ever about.'

'That would suck, wouldn't it,' I agreed. 'You know, when people just . . . won't stop prying.'

'Exactly,' his moustache twitched in ire, 'So get out.'

CeeCee crossed her arms, smiling serenely.

'Aaah, but we have license to pry,' I shook my head. 'It's our job, after all. I mean, we've very thorough in our work. We don't just kick a ghost out. That's too easy. We figure out WHY they're still haunting the living, and we make them move on the natural way. Even AFTER they _gang-rape_ someone in our agency,' I said in a very, very cold voice.

Mr Head must have realized that I was getting mad.

'So yeah,' I went on, coolly, 'After chatting with your school's ghosts, we've realised that you were getting up to some business that wasn't very virtuous, Dicky.'

'I already knew that,' Mr Head overrode me, looking away from me. 'Anyhow, I . . . it would be in your best interest for you to keep this . . . to yourselves - '

And I'm not even kidding. He tried to shell out a fifty to CeeCee.

We both cracked up at him. This SO felt like a gangster movie. This was totally awesome. Grinning at each other, me and CeeCee sniggered.

'We don't take bribes,' she said. 'Wow, that's really, really desperate of you.'

He looked insulted and sheepish, stuffing the money back into his wallet grumpily.

I stated it out loud. 'You were cheating on your wife, weren't you, Mr Head? With a woman named Mrs Karen La Rosa. She was the Deputy Headmistress at your school.'

'I - how DARE you - ' he started, but I raised my eyebrows at him.

He looked back at his half-empty bottle of vodka.

'Oh, bugger,' he pouted.

He grabbed the bottle, and started drinking.

CeeCee was giggling helplessly. I could see why. It WAS pretty funny. You know, our corny attempts to achieve mood lighting for our Bad Cop, Giggly Cop performance.

'Yes,' he muttered. 'I was . . . I was sleeping with Karen. You got me. Er - so, now you - know the truth, you ought to leave - '

Mrs La Rosa must definitely be dumb, deaf and blind. I mean, I couldn't imagine ANY woman finding Mr Head attractive. He was a LOSER.

'Truth is, Dickster,' I sighed, 'It's bigger than that, and you know it.'

The truth. Not his, erm, dickster.

I started pacing in front of the bar leisurely. 'Four boys, Richard. Four boys died in a fire in 1969. Nathaniel Blake, Charles Austin . . . Robin Lawrence. Who was the other one, Cee?'

'Bartholomew Ford,' she supplied.

'Oh yeah,' I smirked at Mr Head. _'Bart_.'

He swallowed, and took another hurried swig of vodka. 'Good God,' he muttered to himself, wiping his forehead.

'Know them?' I asked innocently.

He shrugged nervously. He knew I knew. CeeCee knew he knew I knew. I knew CeeCee knew he knew I knew. He knew I knew that CeeCee knew he knew I knew -

. . . Sorry, teehee.

'The first three,' I said, 'were smart, bright, popular boys, right? Destined for great colleges and everything. Come on, you MUST have known them. After all, they were the reason your school closed down. I think a principal would definitely remember those names if he suddenly lost his job due to a bunch of kids.'

'I think you remember who they are, don't ya?' CeeCee tilted her head, her blond hair swishing and reflecting non-existent light in the windowless room.

'Of course he does,' I said, 'he was just shy before. You know who they are, don't ya, Heady?'

He wasn't looking at me. He was staring ahead, his eyes wide in realisation that he was indeed, SCREWED.

I love my job.

He'd finished his first bottle of vodka. He grabbed a second, looking terrified.

'I'm just going to jump to the chase,' I said. 'I AM drawing this out a little, after all. Richard Head, you murdered the Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein forty years ago. You fed the newspapers bullshit about them committing suicide. You're a killer, and a - '

'BE QUIET!' he shouted at me desperately.

' - cheater and you killed four boys, all because they knew whose pants your penis had ventured into, and you wanted to shut them up.'

'Stop it,' he menaced, standing up, but I shoved him back so he almost fell over on his chair. He steadied himself barely, gripping the bottle of vodka carefully. He was almost half-way through, the stupid alcoholic . . .

'No way,' I said, 'I'm up to the best bit, Mr Head Job.'

CeeCee didn't giggle this time, though.

'You had help,' I said. 'I mean, I'm not stupid. I know that if YOU had have burnt up the attic, you would have got caught in there too. You organised it all, though . . . the removal of Charlie, Robbie and Nathan, I mean. You had Bart.'

I winked at CeeCee, and again, her finger zoomed into her purse briefly.

Mr Head was positively sweating, now.

I laughed a little. 'You know the funny thing? You let him burn too. Even though he pulled a stupid shifter trick all for you. You knew that he was one of us, didn't you?' I said, rapidly stringing the evidence together, 'You caught him with a ghost. What, he told you the full extent of his abilities, and you decided to use that to your advantage? Did you threaten to tell some mental ward about him if he didn't help you?' I demanded. 'Because, as a shifter, that is something that gets us REALLY pissed off.'

'He was a little _freak_,' Mr Head glared at me.

'He helped you and you killed him too,' I said hatefully. HE WAS DISSING THE SHIFTER RACE.

OFF WITH HIS HEAD!

'He agreed to do it,' Mr Head said defensively. I urgently signalled to CeeCee, and she quickly poked something in her purse again, 'He knew as well as I did that those boys were trouble. They – they bullied him, apparently.' He nodded quickly. 'They wasted precious places in my school.'

That reminded me forcefully of the words of Michael Meducci.

. . . _Another_ murderer of four people.

'So you killed them,' I said flatly. 'Wow, we sure know who the mature adult is in this situation. I'm not saying that THEY were right - they blackmailed you because you were screwing around with their English teacher. That's not mature either. But the point is,' I said, jabbing a thumb at him, 'you broke the law AND one of the commandments, and you SUCK.'

Hey, no one ever said _I_ was mature.

For once, Mr Head had nothing to deny.

'So,' I said with calm anger. 'You cooked up a scheme to kill off his bullies, and your trouble makers,' I said, 'And you ended up selling out on Bart in the process. Well, if that is any incentive to not trust you, I don't know what the hell is.'

Mr Head's lips were shaking.

'CeeCee?' I asked. 'Did you get all of that?'

She nodded, and pulled out the tape recorder from her purse. 'Uh huh.'

She handed it to me, smiling.

And that's when Mr Head went psycho.

He smashed the bottle on the table-top, and seized CeeCee, jamming the broken bottle at her jugular. She gasped as he held her painfully tight. 'Give that to me,' he nodded aggressively at the tape, glaring and rocking on his feet in panic.

Stunned, I didn't move.

He shoved the glass closer to her neck, and she whimpered. 'GIVE IT HERE,' he roared heatedly.

I swallowed. I . . . I couldn't.

I had to.

If I didn't, he'd kill her. He'd killed before, after all. Or at least, organised murder.

However, I had a better idea . . .

_Just breathe deeply and focus on the pencil. Now, imagine a line . . . a line of energy lifting the pencil up . . ._

I glared at the bottle, concentrating. And to my joy, it lifted RIGHT out of his hands and into mine.

I RULE THE _WOOOOOOOOOORLD_!

'W - ' Mr Head demanded in wonder, and I suddenly made it so that even if he DID want kids, he couldn't have them. I dragged CeeCee away from him, and she held her neck, wincing. It was bleeding.

Mr Head sank to his knees, hunched over, clutching his man-bits, groaning.

I hated the fact that I had been right about Bart.

That he'd been the one, all along.

Robin didn't commit suicide all right, Bart. BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM.

I mean, I thought he was the okay one. He wasn't involved in Dani's murder, after all.

But he was involved in a murder of his own. THREE people. Four, if you counted him too.

Feeling kind of disgusted, I glared at Mr Head again, before yanking him up by his collar. 'Come on, Dick-less,' I snarled at him, 'We're going to put four boys to rest. Four boys who need your apology. Try to run, and I'll take away your reason for being called Dick.'

He looked alarmed, as most men do when their penis is threatened.

So out of the house we went. Mr Head's car wasn't there. Abigail had obviously gone for a long drive. I shoved Mr Head in the backseat of CeeCee's car, putting the kiddie-lock on. Seeing as we had a naughty little boy in the backseat, and all.

'Okay, drive CeeCee,' I said. 'I'm sitting in the back with the Devil's freakin' Advocate.'

CeeCee got in the front, looking at Mr Head worriedly. She wiped her neck, which was still dribbling blood a little from being scratched, and then started the car.

'Police station?' she asked.

'No,' I corrected, 'Fortunaschwein.'

Mr Head looked at me in alarm. 'What are you going to do to me?'

'Nothing,' I replied, my eyebrows raised. 'We're just getting you to apologise, is all.'

'Oh,' he said in surprise. He settled in relief.

'Yep,' I said, 'They move on, and you go eat scones and jam with wifey dearest. All is swell.'

'That is,' CeeCee interjected, 'If you're not serving hard time for premeditated murder, of course.'

Mr Head blanched again.

'My main concern is letting restless spirits rest. These boys have been in purgatory for 40 long years. No wonder they're feeling depraved. They should have grown up to be doctors. Lawyers. They should have dated, fallen in love, had great careers, bought houses in the suburbs. But noooooo. You had to go and screw it all up, Richard-licker.'

'Would you STOP using my name like that?' Mr Head grimaced furiously.

I snickered. 'Nope.'

The car trip was freakishly silent. He didn't say anything. When we finally pulled up to the foreboding building that was Fortunaschwein Ex-Boarding School For Boys, I got a shiver. As if something bad was going to happen.

. . . Pfft.

I stuck my hand in my pocket and grabbed out my Nokia. However, the batteries had flat lined. So I couldn't call Paul and tell him to come back.

Oh well. They'd be here soon enough.

'Okay, Dicky-smooch,' I muttered, grabbing his upper arm, 'out we get.'

Yanking him out a little more savagely than necessary, I said firmly, 'Okay, nothing stupid from you. We're going to do this the right way, and no one will get hurt, okay? I don't want anyone to get hurt. There has been enough already. Everything will be fine for you if you just do as I tell you. I want these guys gone - the right way. Not exorcism, like you requested. You wanted them gone quick. I get why, now. I - '

I stopped, and looked at him blankly.

'You attacked Father Dominic, didn't you? With an AXE.'

'The - the back of it. Not the sharp side - '

I jerked him forward furiously by his shirt, wanting to punch him again. 'I hate you,' I promised him.

He didn't reply. He looked too scared too.

CeeCee and I walked Little Dicky up the long way till we reached the front of the school. However, Mr Head had could sight of his graveyard.

'My - my CEMETERY!' he shrilled, horrified, 'What did you do to my CEMETERY?'

'I blew it up,' I said. 'It was annoying me. Like _you_ are, right now.'

He coughed on the spit he'd just choked on.

He glared at the front door of Fortunaschwein. 'I'm NOT going in there,' he said stubbornly. 'Bring them outside, I'll apologise here, thank you very much.'

_'Um_,' I rolled my eyes, 'How about _NO_.'

And I shoved him forward, while CeeCee opened the door.

Once inside, I felt Mr Head go horribly rigid. He looked around slowly, cautiously, his eyes narrowed. A thousand and one memories seemed to be hitting him right between the eyes. He twitched at each sound.

'Any particular room you like?' I asked him. 'Or shall we do this here?'

'Do what?' he asked.

'Apologise,' CeeCee informed.

He blinked lethargically. The vodka was taking its toll. Oh well, at least he could hold his liquor. Unlike me. 'Ballroom,' he said in one word. 'I . . . I haven't seen that room in a long, long time . . . '

'You have a BALLROOM?' I demanded, 'WHERE?'

WHY HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS THING HE CALLS A BALLROOM?

'Fourth floor,' he muttered, frowning in reminiscence. 'Opposite way of the attic . . . '

'Right,' I said, wishing Paul was here. I felt cold, suddenly. Shivery. Shaking off the chill determinedly, I marched Mr Head up the stairs with CeeCee, until we reached the fourth floor or Fortunaschwein.

He guided the way slowly, taking in everything that he hadn't seen for forty years. 'God,' he scowled, 'Look at the state of it.'

'Yeah,' I agreed, 'Ghosts can be pretty rowdy when they're pissed off about being murdered, and all.'

He sent me a cutting glare.

'So,' he asked very hesitantly, 'Er . . . how will this . . . work?'

It won't. I like my men younger.

'What?' I snapped in frustration, cooling around coldly at the portraits that adorned the walls of the fanciest floor.

'How is this going to be done?' he asked. 'I can't talk to them, much less see them.'

I groaned. He was really irritating me now. 'You forget who I am. I am a liaison between the living and the dead. I can see, hear and speak to them . . . God, I really should get the printed on my forehead. Or get business cards.'

'Er,' he mumbled unsurely, 'So you'll serve as a . . . translator?'

_Nuuuuuuuuh_, I'll serve as deodorant.

'Yes,' I gritted my teeth.

Dickedy-Doo-Dah stopped in front of the only door that had appeared for a long time on the wall facing the front of the school. 'This,' he presented, 'Is my ballroom.'

He pushed the doors open, and I gasped.

'Holy crap,' CeeCee breathed.

It really WAS holy-crap-worthy. It was . . . it was _beautiful_. My mouth dropped open at the cream walls, and the gold-flecked tiles on the floor. The drapery was all gold, and in the centre of the roof, the most AMAZING chandelier hung there, looking as ominous as it did spectacular. The crystals winked coldly at me.

The room was HUGE.

'The girls from St. Josephine's would come here for parties twice a year,' Mr Head explained lamely. 'The boys thought I had no idea that they'd take them back to their rooms to do things that were strictly against school rules. They thought I didn't notice. Lawrence and Blake were the _worst_,' he growled. 'I could just never prove it.'

I observed in disdain, 'you really had it in for those guys, didn't you.'

He looked offended. 'You don't know what you're talking about, girl,' he said dismissively. 'Those boys were nightmares.'

I had to agree. Their rape and murder of Danielle Moore hadn't exactly been the stuff that dreams were made of.

There were white sheets around all of the edges of the room draping what I presumed to be furniture. I finally let go of Mr Head's arm, and CeeCee followed my lead.

Suddenly, the chill in the air got unbearably cold. The three of us suddenly went tense. I looked around angrily.

They were here. I couldn't see them. They'd possessed the room . . . but they were here.

My tone may have been a LITTLE weak . . . but shut up, turd sniffs. 'Guys? Come out now, this is important.' I flinched a little, turning around and looking for a sign that they're stop hiding, and that they'd show, and we could get this over and done with and they'd move on and we could all go home and eat scones and jam.

The sheets around the room started moving eerily. I should have had the sense to turn the LIGHT on to prevent my getting-creeped-out-ness.

'NOW,' I said, irked.

'Aww, man,' Nathan groaned from behind me. 'You're no fun, Susie.'

I spun around quickly. Robin immediately materialized beside him, followed by Charles, who was glaring at Mr Head. Then Bart appeared. His eyes went very, VERY wide when he caught sight of who was standing beside CeeCee.

I got even more nervous when I saw Robin's face crack into a dark smirk. 'You brought him,' his voice rumbled with deep satisfaction. 'Good . . . '

I tossed my hair a little, worriedly. 'Yeah,' I said.

'Will they let me apologise?' Mr Head asked impatiently.

'Shut it,' I scowled at him.

'What's going on, Suze?' CeeCee asked, eyeing the wafting sheets at the edge of the room apprehensively.

I held Robin's gaze. 'Okay, so Dickweed here is going to make his most sincere apology for your murder. Because he IS sorry. ISN'T he?' I growled, elbowing Mr Head angrily.

'Uh - oh, yes,' he coughed, not knowing what was happening.

'See?' I said. 'He's totally sorry. The remorse thing is totally happening for him. So go on, Mr H. Make it official.'

Dick-suck looked around quickly, his eyes rather wide. 'I . . . I'm very sorry, boys, for what I've done. It was very selfish of me to only consider myself. You boys were so smart, you could get anything you wanted. And I stole it away because you knew things that you shouldn't have. It was wrong. I was wrong. And Bart . . . I'm sorry for using you . . . I really am. It just goes to show you how selfish and greedy man can be - '

'THAT'S enough apologising,' I said quickly, stamping on his foot quickly, but Robin's evil smirk had totally frozen.

'Bart?' he asked. 'What ABOUT Bart?'

'Nothing,' I babbled, panicking. 'Nothing at all. Just - you know, Bart's short and all, and Mr Head feels most sorry for him - '

Said shortie was standing beside Charlie, looking petrified, as if saying, _No, Suze, WHY did you let him say that?_

'Wow,' I said, 'It's amazing! You're already, um, fading! Enjoy the next life - '

'Liar,' Nathan breathed at me.

I swallowed. 'Look,' my voice was high, and stressed, 'He said SORRY, okay? He's sorry. So GO - '

But Robin was totally spun around, and had grabbed fistfuls of Bart's shirt. 'What does he MEAN?' he spat at Bart murderously. 'How did he "use you," you little squirt?'

Bart tried to pry Robbie's hands away from his uniform, but it was no go. This only earned the blond guy a vicious shake, which made him squeal.

Just BRIMMING with masculinity, he is.

'Robin, let him go,' I snapped. 'Look, just let me finish - '

'We've heard ENOUGH from you,' Charlie boomed in my face, before slapping me one across the face.

I stumbled, and CeeCee yelled out, 'Suze!'

Mr Head looked terrified. 'What's going ON?' he demanded urgently, 'What is happening, damn it?'

'You're a LOSER,' I shrilled at him, 'You just COULDN'T keep the Bart thing to yourself. Did it ever occur to you that they didn't KNOW that little detail yet?'

'WHAT DETAIL?' Robin thundered at me, throwing Bart away and coming to grab ME instead.

'You told me to apologise!' Mr Head chuckled nervously, 'So - so I did. To all of them.'

GRRRRRR!

Robin looked poisonously at Bart, who was cowering. He tried to dematerialize, but the three of them were keeping him there, not letting him leave. The thick smog of Astral Block suddenly impacted on my ability to think or act. Robin released me, and I moved back hurriedly against CeeCee who was now shaking.

I yanked Mr Head back next to us. I WAS GOING TO KILL HIM. HE RUINED IT, PFFT!

'What DID YOU DO?' Nathan shoved Bart with an irate suspicion.

'Aaah not, Nate,' Robbie said, suddenly adopting a chiding tone. He was boiling by the second, though. I could see it in his eyes. They were dark with a rage that was hissing madly, in hiding. 'Lay off. Let's let Bartie-boy explain . . . he needs to do a lot of explaining lately. Like, why he's taken a fancy to the new girl in the school.'

Huh? Girl? WHAT girl?

. . . Oh. That one.

'Looking out for her all the time,' Nathan added, sounding like the slithering of a snake, _'Watching_ her . . . '

Bart was shaking his head, his eyes wide. 'No, I - look, guys, just listen, you - '

Robbie stepped closer, and crossed his muscular arms. 'Come on, Bartie. What was so horrible that you kept it a secret from us?'

The windows started opening and closing. Banging. Loudly. The mirror along the wall wobbled hazardously, and all the candlesticks snapped off as if destructive wind was blowing at them. I pulled Mr Head and CeeCee another step back. CeeCee was staring, appalled, at the haunting.

'Yes,' Charlie said, cracking his knuckles. 'Do tell, Bart?'

Bart looked close to tears. His blond hair didn't look so floppy or puppyish anymore. 'I'm SORRY!' he screamed at them, 'I'm sorry! He made me, I swear! I didn't want to, but he said if I didn't start the fire he'd tell everyone what I was - what I THOUGHT I was! I didn't mean for it to happen like that, but he - I'm sorry!'

The silence that greeted this revelation chilled me to the bone. I held my breath.

'We're sorry too, Bart,' Robbie whispered. 'For this.'

And with that, the three of them focused an energy with the intensity of lightning, on Bart. He started writhing and screaming, and I gasped sharply and pulled CeeCee and Mr Head in, saying under my breath, 'We HAVE to get out of here . . . I made a big, big mistake. And YOU'RE a fucktard,' I added to Mr Head heatedly, 'You've _screwed up everything_!'

'Suze, please!' CeeCee said, scared.

'Okay,' I panted, 'Run!'

Well, CeeCee bolted, Mr Head followed closely behind, me bringing up the rear. Cee got to the door but suddenly, the whole lot of us were violently thrown back against the tiled floor. We skidded before landing painfully.

'YOU,' Charlie's eyes were black with rage, 'Are not going ANYWHERE, _Sir_.'

'You lit the fire?' Robbie was roaring at Bart, 'YOU'RE like SUSIE? You burned us all, Bart? You were yelling! We thought it was at him! But - it was TO HIM!'

Mr Head was suddenly levitated in the air, before being slammed back down with murderous intent.

Oh God, oh God . . . what had I done?

'Stop it!' I shrieked at Robbie, standing up at break-neck speed. 'This is NOT helping!'

'Actually,' Robbie laughed madly, 'It feels GREAT.'

And Mr Head was thrown against the roof, and then was smashed against the floor once again.

CeeCee flinched, still on the ground.

Mr Head was groaning in pain. 'I apologised!' he hollered at me in outrage, 'I - I said I was sorry, what - '

It wasn't enough.

Horrified at what I'd created, and quickly ran to CeeCee. 'Get out!' I squealed, helping her over to the door. She was out in a flash. 'I'll get help,' she promised, before hightailing it. I turned back to the Misfortunates. I then ran over to Mr Head. 'Get up,' I tried pulling him to his feet, but a hand swiped me away from him.

Charles.

'You'll do WELL,' he hissed, 'To leave well enough alone, Susie.'

I winced as his hand once again branded my skin. My arm stung, and felt like breaking.

Robin and Nathan were hammering into Bart with such abandon, such RAGE, that I could feel my breath become rare. Gasping for air, I clutched my chest, wincing.

'I'm sorry!' Bart cried out, but that only caused the mirror to shatter. I screamed, and flattened myself against the floor in order to avoid shards. I was not touched.

Charlie was repeatedly banging Mr Head against the ground. 'Now you are at OUR mercy,' he spat at him.

'Let him OUT!' I pleaded, lifting my head up. 'Please! I thought you guys were ABOVE this crap.'

. . . She says to the boys who sexually assaulted a supermodel, before staging her death.

OKAY, I was NAIVE, I GET IT!

'You do NOT know us!' Charlie's voice echoed in my mind like he was both a thousand miles away, and right beside my ear. I held my head in pain.

Robbie looked away from Bart, his face alive with murder and thrill. 'Thank you, Susie, for bringing him here. We're most grateful. I honestly did not think you would be so stupid as to believe that we just wanted to hear him say he was sorry,' he snorted. 'But you were, and that's worked in our favour.'

'Let her out!' Bart begged Robin, 'She didn't - she didn't DO anything - '

Charlie pounded on him. Mr Head took that moment to bolt. He ran to the door, but it slammed as soon as he got there, and locked itself.

'What is going ON?' he screeched at me in misery, 'You said - '

'I'm so sorry . . . ' I whispered, dismayed. 'I'm so, so sorry . . . I was - I was wrong . . . they're not going to - ' my throat choked up as I realized my terrible, terrible error. 'They're not letting you go, Richard.'

'Why NOT? What are they SAYING?'

'Go on, Susie, tell him what we're saying . . . ' Robin glared at me. 'Be the bearer of bad news. Be the shifter that you are.'

'Leave her alone, Robbie!' Bart warned, high-pitched.

Robbie laughed at him. 'My God, you're naïve,' he commented on Bart. 'But Suze has a message for our principal. Come on, Suze. Say this to him: I'm going to kill him. We all are. We, being Nate, Charles and me. Bart, well, we'll deal with him later . . .'

I was silent.

'TELL HIM,' Nathan exploded at me darkly.

I winced.

Charlie, Nathan and Robbie came to stand in a row, glaring at Mr Head.

Murder.

They stank of murder.

Why didn't I see it before? WHY am I so DUMB!

Suddenly, a voice at the door made my heart thump with life. 'Suze? Are you okay?' It was Paul. I withdrew a painful breath of relief. He'd help. It would be okay. He was back . . . 'The door's locked, Suze, I can't - '

'Suze!' Bart squeaked, 'The - the door's open, get out!'

I ran for it, dragging Mr Head along with me. Paul opened the door, and Mr Head fell over him.

'GET HIM OUT OF HERE!' I freaked, going completely psycho, 'DEMATERIALISE WITH HIM!'

'NO!' Robbie stormed, 'Don't you DARE - '

But Paul had grabbed Mr Head's shoulders, panicked at how panicky I was, and was gone.

He'd come back for me in a second –

However, it was then that something dark, something deadly, something desperate and heated happened.

I'd delivered their killer to safety. I'd brought him here. He was their kill. And I'd let him get away.

And they did not like that one bit.

Because at that precise moment, pain and oppression like I'd NEVER known rained down on me. An Astral Block SO intense almost forced me against the floor, making the gravity heavy and hard. 'Aaah!' I moaned, my knees going weak. I slipped, my head feeling like it was going to explode.

Everything got so much darker, so much heavier. I tried to keep getting breath. My hair slipped to the sides of my face.

I knew.

They weren't just possessing the room anymore.

They had the whole SCHOOL now . . .

They weren't letting ANYONE come in.

Or ANYONE go out.

'You let him _go_,' Robin's voice, though calm-sounding, was so full of hate and rage, that it scythed its way into my ears. I looked up at him, scared.

'You were going to kill him,' I reasoned, 'I had t - '

'We are going to kill YOU,' Nathan fired at me.

I paled.

Robin, insane in anger, just chuckled. He was mad. Mad, mad, mad . . . 'Oh well, look what the consolation prize is? The pretty girl, with no one to protect her any more . . . all alone . . . '

'She can barely move,' Charlie laughed at me.

It was true. I couldn't.

Robin smiled at me in a very dark way. He was the predator, I was the prey. He had me trapped, and I was helpless. They - they were too powerful. I was their new kill.

It wasn't FAIR.

Paul couldn't get in . . . he couldn't match an Astral Block like this.

I could scarcely BREATHE because of it . . .

I made a very brave attempt of standing up, but immediately, they made me slip over.

'Oh, the power we have over her now,' Robin laughed. 'It feels good, doesn't it boys?'

Nathan and Charlie laughed, eyes flickering in sick excitement.

Robbie's eyes were closed. He was smiling, looking incredibly satisfied. 'Damn,' he grinned, his eyelids flickering. He held out his arms. 'If we can be DEAD and feel like this . . . '

Like shifters, ghosts channel their emotions to fuel their power. And those three Misfortunates were going through some SERIOUS emotional crap there, because it was only serving to intensify their already frightening amount of power.

Anger, hate, pain.

Three strong emotions.

Three emotions that could make three dead boys VERY deadly.

And guess who was there for them to test-drive this power on?

Ozzy Osbourne.

. . . Not.

_Dematerialise, dematerialise, dematerialise, dematerialise . . . break through it, Suze . . . try, try harder, they'll kill you if you don't, NO PRESSURE, dematerialise . . . dematerialise –_

'Look - '

One word, and suddenly I was forced on my back, my arms pinned to my sides. The three of them broke out in laughter.

'We can do whatever we _want_ to her,' Robin said, making it sound like this was every ghost's wet dream. 'And she can't even run. And her cowboy can't come to help her. Or her lawyer . . . '

They had complete power over me. I couldn't move unless they willed it. Their will dominated over mine. I was under their control, and my GOD it was painful . . .

I felt like a shadow had entered me. It refused to leave.

My head wanted to erupt volcanically with the heat. Panting sharply, feeling the jagged air in my throat, I tried moving. ANY movement other than shaking.

I couldn't. It hurt too much to try.

Robin came over me, his knees either side of my hips. I was trembling so badly that I was almost convulsing. I was trying SO hard to break free of the control. I was.

But I wasn't strong enough.

I doubted a hundred shifters could have broken through the rage of Robin Lawrence, Charles Austin and Nathaniel Blake, then.

Robbie trailed a hand down my face, smirking. For a mere second, he gave me a chance at movement, in which I tried wriggling from under him, but looking sickly amused, me seized my wrists and jammed them beside my head.

He'd done that on purpose. Let me try to get away . . . then trapped me again.

'I like it better when you struggle,' he whispered down at me as if it were a secret.

My heart seized up completely, with unshakeable fear.

Released momentarily once again, I started thrashing about. 'Get OFF of me - ' I commanded, my voice full of oxygen that my brain was not receiving. He ran his hand through my dark hair, thumbing down my cheek.

I felt the control come back full force.

Then, however, his hands left my hair.

. . . And they were at the zipper of my jeans, which they COMPLETELY unzipped.

Dark, gripping memories of Cole doing the exact same thing suddenly seized me.

Robin slid my jeans down, smirking. His eyes were getting far too dark for me to continue looking up into. I couldn't bear to look up at him. Not when I knew what he was about to do.

That's when I started _really_ screaming.

- 8 -

**Review . . .  
**


	30. Violation

**_Rigorous ringworms, near and far,_**

**_It is my great dismay,_**

**_To inform you of a horrid thing,_**

_**That happened just this day.**_

**_Lolly and Hayley, the twisted two,_**

**_Decided to be mean._**

**_They wrote a chapter a lot shorter here,_**

_**Pages totaling to seventeen.**_

**_So please forgive us, ducks of doom,_**

_**For our act of under-writing.**_

_**However, 17 is still a lot.**_

_**SO STOP a) COMPLAINING, b) BITING.**_

_Pfft. Honestly . . ._

_Love Lolly and Hayley._

P.S. CHARACTER DEATH!  


- 8 -

**Then, however, his hands left my hair.**

**. . . And they were at the zipper of my jeans, which they COMPLETELY unzipped.**

**Dark, gripping memories of Cole doing the exact same thing suddenly seized me.**

**Robin slid my jeans down, smirking. His eyes were getting far too dark for me to continue looking up into. I couldn't bear to look up at him. Not when I knew what he was about to do.**

**That's when I started _really_ screaming.**

- 8 -

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

**

* * *

**

'NO!' I shrieked, suddenly terrified beyond all recognition. 'DON'T! Please, don't – '

'She's begging,' Nathan was laughing angrily. 'She's begging for you to stop, Robbie.'

My mind was completely blank with the horror of what was about to happen. All I could see was his eyes, above mind, looking down at me with such . . . _triumph_. Like this was some CONQUEST for him. It was like he was looking for buried treasure or something.

Which, it seemed, was hidden in my pants.

Whoa, someone sounds a little over confident. But that was kind of how it felt.

I tried once more to move, to thrash about, to struggle, to escape, but the Astral Block wouldn't allow it. It was too strong, and I was far too weak for the likes of the Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein.

Because this was a rage to which no shifter could compare . . .

If only you lucky people could understand the power of a good astral block, then maybe you could see where I was coming from. Astral block is not just a wall . . . it's like cramp you get when you run too much or go swimming too soon after you eat. It actually physically hurts. Each time I tried to break the block with my mind, it felt like I was running into a wall over and over and over again. Head first. My head was throbbing in agonizing pain.

You can also feel it's restraint on you. It's as if someone tied you up with rope so tight that it cuts off your circulation. All you feel is numb. Numb with an absolute killer headache.

In short, it's not fun. It's cramping, debilitating, and it completely wore me out.

'You don't want to – ' I began shakily, but I felt Charlie's foot step on my hand. I couldn't help but cry out. I mean, Charlie was heavy. You'd kind of have to be with all that muscle.

But he freaking stepped on my hand like it was nothing to him. He ignored my cry and continued on with his merry little speech.

'You let him GO!' he spat down at me. 'You've been a nuisance ever since you and your little friends ever arrived at this school, and when you FINALLY did something right, by bringing _him_ to us, you just let him walk right back out!'

Trembling, I shook my head. 'No, I said I'd only bring him here to apologise, n-not for you to kill him – '

But a sudden blinding pain behind my eyes made me scream. There was a pressure there that I'd never EVER felt . . . like all of my shifting headaches, infinitely multiplied.

And Robin was still sliding my jeans down.

I was so, so scared. It was my worse than my absolute worst nightmare. Robin was trying to rape me . . . rob me of the only little pieces of me that were left. The only thing that wasn't completely shattered already.

And the worst part was that I didn't have any control over it as my pants were being worked past my hips and down my thighs. The block, which had caused not only a great deal of physical pain, had also hindered me from being able to call the only people that could help.

I was trapped . . . I was stuck. There was nothing to stop Robin now from having his way with me.

Which he initiated, by shoving one of his hands up my shirt. I felt violently sick the minute I felt his fingers touch my breast. And it got worse. He started . . . _grabbing_ it and – it was _hurting_ me. A lot. I was shaking badly. So much so that I couldn't even speak. I just – this HORROR was rendered me speechless, motionless, powerless and terrified.

I couldn't BELIEVE how DISGUSTING he was – I mean, I knew from the moment that the Block had settled in that I was in deep trouble.

But THIS – it was revolting. And it HURT so BADLY. He was so ROUGH. He tore back at the material of my bra, and I rolled my head back, whimpering, suddenly pleading for him to stop, over and over again.

It was NOTHING like how Paul touches me. His touch wasn't harsh, wasn't aggressive . . . When Paul had done that to me I didn't feel like I wanted to vomit or pass out from the pain.

'Don't – ' I shuddered, but that only made him smirk more as he pressed his hand harder; rougher. When I asked Paul to stop, I never meant it. When I asked ROBIN to stop, I SO did.

But he didn't.

He lowered his mouth to my neck, and chuckled against my skin. I shivered more. 'Keep asking me to stop,' he beseeched. 'I love it . . . '

He lifted his face, and – I'm SO not kidding – dragged his tongue down my cheek.

That made me writhe even HARDER.

Which, consequently, made him . . . _squeeze_ harder.

YES, I'M AWARE HOW GROSS IT WAS. BUT I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING TO STOP HIM . . . I WOULD HAVE IF IT WAS POSSIBLE, BUT IT _WASN'T_ . . .

'STOP it – !' I cried, realizing too late that only a moment before, he'd ASKED me to do that.

'Hurry up,' Nathan scowled in frustration, 'I want a go. You ALWAYS go first.'

'Yes,' Charlie agreed cantankerously. 'And _don't_ kill her before we get a proper turn, like _last_ time.'

'Yeah,' Nathan snapped moodily.

HUH?

Robin just LAUGHED. He LAUGHED AT SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

At a moment when he again released me from the Astral Block's control, I whipped my hand up and scraped at his face, moaning in fright.

That only served to amuse him. He grinned wider, and started kissing me with a violent vehemence. I screwed up my face as I felt his tongue in my touch. I swear to _God_, I wanted to throw up. I felt SICK from the FEAR he still hadn't STOPPED attacking my CHEST with his stupid HAND which was being even MORE FORCEFUL there and I couldn't TAKE this and yet this was only the BEGINNING of what was going to happen to me.

To think . . . Dani had suffered this fate, too . . .

I was a goner. I was SO dead.

However, suddenly he was knocked clean off of me by a swirl of navy and grey.

Bart had totally tackled him sideways.

I rolled over a bit and looked up at Bart in shock. Bart was laying on top of Robin. He looked over at me frantically.

'SUZE, GO!' he yelled, trying to keep Robin from breaking free.

Stupid freak. I couldn't MOVE.

'I can't,' I cried at him. The Block was too oppressive. And I couldn't think about anything but the pain in my head, let alone concentrate on trying to break through the Block.

'You _little_ – ' Robin snarled at Bart, before I heard him yelping. Bart, that is.

Robin was able to break free from him, roll on top of Bart, and lay some pretty mean punches on him.

I screwed up my face, feeling every punch that the little guy got. I mean . . . this was all my fault. If I hadn't been so STUPID, and so NAÏVE, then I would have realised that the Misfortunates didn't want some APOLOGY. They wanted vengeance. They wanted to kill their old principal. That was the only thing that would compensate for the fact that they were now all dead, it seemed.

Meanwhile, I saw Nathan swoop over me. His pale blue-gray eyes were glinting coldly as he smirked. 'Lucky Susie,' he said down to me, 'Now you're going to have all the fun that your friend Dani had . . . '

'Please,' I tried to appeal to him once more, so God damned desperate, but with a rush of pain and an extreme force, I was shoved on my stomach by something unseen.

STUPID BLOCK!

I felt hands working their way up my back, pushing my top up with it. 'Don't,' I shook my head, over and over again, 'I know that you died, and I know that it was unfair, and that you shouldn't be stuck here, but this isn't going to make anything better, I swear. Don't – '

'You talk to me like I haven't already done this before,' Nathan hissed. 'I have nothing to lose now, Susie. Nothing to gain, come to that. However, you have _everything_ to lose, and that's the thrill that I get.'

Such a sick, sick thing to say.

This guy was not only twisted, but disgusting. Loathsome. His words, however, were so chilling that fear quickly replaced repulsion.

It was useless. Suddenly, with a painful realization, I understood that I wasn't going to get out of here alive. No way. Not while these three eighteen year olds were so angry, so hateful, and so powerful. And there was no way for me to defend myself, either. I mean, I was alone . . . powerless, unable to move, unable to call for help, and even though people KNEW I was in danger, they couldn't reach me in time.

So I was screwed.

So, so, so screwed.

As much as I could try to touch into any humanity left in these three boys, I knew that THAT was a lost cause as well. There was no humanity there anymore. That had died when Dani had.

To kill is to lose a part of yourself.

To kill and _enjoy_ it, is to lose yourself completely.

Bart regretted what he'd done. He hadn't done it out of malice; he'd killed out of fear. He had a lot on the line if he didn't do it. Mr. Head would have spilled the beans about his powers . . . but who would believe him? And then what? Would they ship Bart off to the mental ward? That's touching on the most taxing fears on the mind of a shifter.

But Charlie, Robbie and Nathan had killed to get off on it.

And that was what made them so dangerous now. Because they didn't have any respect for life any longer, seeing as they'd lost their own with such violence.

I mean, JESSE got MURDERED as WELL. But HE didn't go around killing people because of it. HE didn't try to get some ass from any girls who could still see him. And even though he had kind of gone after Felix Diego that one time in the chapel, after I exorcised myself, that didn't mean that he was a killer. He had just beaten the crappers out of Diego for being a jerk.

But Diego was DEAD . . . that was DIFFERENT. He didn't have a life to lose.

Mr Head did.

Dani did.

And most currently, I did.

Going by their previous display of how chummy they were with the living, I doubted I was going to last very long.

There was nothing I could do to save myself. I mean . . . I had no means of defense. Paul had no way to get to me. It really, truly was hopeless.

But . . .

Yes. _But_.

BUT . . . just when I'd resigned myself to the fact that I was going to die, and violently, there was this flash. No, seriously. I know, I know, yeah-how-convenient-there-was-a-FLASH-just-in-TIME-to-save-the-heroine, blah blah . . . But honest to God. The whole room was suddenly coated in blue, and it hit my eyes like a laser.

And all four of the Misfortunates were thrown against the wall where the mirror had been before they'd shattered it.

The block was gone.

Dust was EVERYWHERE. It seemed that any possible area of dust had suddenly become unsettled, and so there was a cloud of grey across the whole ballroom that made it almost impossible to see through. However, as I scrambled up, shaking like a leaf and yanking my pants up – my knees weren't working properly, and my heart was going faster than a Formula 1 racing car – I could have _sworn_ that I saw . . .

No way.

No, no, no way.

I mean – that wasn't POSSIBLE.

She couldn't have . . . she was DEAD. She wasn't even a ghost – she was supposed to be GONE. _Completely_.

The figure past the screen of dust was tall, colorless, and in shadow . . . there was no mistaking the shock of red hair, though.

As I swiped at the falling dust, I looked again, and she was gone.

. . . No way. No freakin' way.

Suddenly, my heart went so fast. I mean . . . I am aware that I am a mediator. I see ghosts. I hear them, I touch them, I occasionally make out with them, and I beat the crap out of them – or bravely attempt to. Ghosts EXIST. I know they do. They don't scare me. I mean, as PEOPLE they do, but not because they're the existing souls of those troubled spirits who have unfinished business in this plane.

But there . . . THEN . . . I was scared.

Because Danielle Moore was supposed to be FULLY gone. As in – not haunting me anymore.

But there she'd been. I was so sure of it. Her hair . . . no one had hair quite like that. Even with the sheet of dust in front of me, I would have sworn on my life that it had been her.

Her presence make me shiver. It scared the HELL out of me.

Could it have been, though, that . . . maybe that WASN'T her ghost? More like . . . a _memory_ of her or something? I mean – I had been about to suffer the same fate as her. At the same hands.

Could that have triggered some FORM of her to have come from beyond the grave to stop it?

Was that POSSIBLE?

Because NOTHING could have EVER been as strong as to break through an Astral Block so suffocating . . .

I mean, the Block was born from the desire of revenge. Had something countered that . . . ?

I didn't KNOW. It didn't make SENSE.

When I was capable of thought again, I realised that the Block was gone. I no longer felt that pounding headache or that awful numb feeling. I felt free again.

With this knowledge, and the knowledge that, at any moment, the situation could change as soon as the Misforts caught on, I knew exactly just who to call.

Ghostbusters.

. . . No.

_Paul_, I thought.

And before I even finished my thought, a slight wind and a shimmering sound let me know that my request had been met.

I opened my eyes and immediately looked at the Misforts, who were in a heap on the floor by the wall. They would recover any second now.

The minute Paul came, he took one look at my somewhat disheveled state before his eyes went REALLY wide. 'What did they do, Suze?' he asked quickly. 'Did they hurt you? Why are you shaking?'

Because I totally was. I felt like I was going to die.

And cry.

He pulled me into a forceful hug, and swore under his breath. He then pulled away a moment later, and his fingers came to my arm in a protective, scared sort of way as he examined the damage. 'What the h-'

But at the same moment, Jesse materialised beside him, and cut off Paul by asking in the same tone of urgency, 'Susannah! We couldn't get to you – Slater called me and said that you were in danger, but something did not allow us to come to you – _are you okay_?'

Not knowing who exactly to respond to, I replied, 'I don't think I've got time to explain, but it'll be a lot worse than this if we don't do something.'

Yes. You totally don't need to know what Robin had had planned for me. That will forever remain between me, him, and his penis, thank you.

And, as if on cue, the Misforts started to get up from their pile on the floor and brush themselves off. The three of them sauntered over to us like predator seeking prey.

'What the DAMNED HELLL HAPPENED?' Charles roared. 'How did THEY get HERE!'

'Susie broke through our Block,' Nathan spat.

Um . . . okay, I'll just pretend it was me.

Paul looked at me swiftly, impressed.

'Oh well,' Robin said loudly, his voice crushed with decadence,

All of them had cheap intimidation tactics . . . Charlie folded his muscular arms over his chest, Nate cracked his knuckles, and Robin grinned lazily at us.

The sad thing about these tactics?

They worked.

On me at least. I don't know about Paul or Jesse. Paul's grip on my arm got a bit tighter, and Jesse just looked plain angry. I would go as far to say they looked murderous, even.

I don't think I had to worry about Paul and Jesse committing murder anytime soon. It was the three across from us I had to worry about.

I could feel the room becoming edgy with the agitation and the tension that was boiling up between both groups. I knew it was a total Us versus Them sort of thing. Let the best group win and all that.

Well, personally I thought the SIA (or what was left of it) was a pretty good team. But I still wasn't completely confident that we could beat the Misfortunates, especially not after all their attempts to break us and weaken us. Those had worked . . . what if they tried to pull it off again?

Paul's voice seemed to take a knife to the tension in the room as he spoke in a rather harsh voice, 'What do you want from us? Haven't you three done enough?'

'We want a number of things,' Nathan drawled hatefully. 'We want our lives back. They were stolen.'

'But most of all,' Robin cut in, dropping his lazy grin for a chillingly dark look, 'we want revenge.'

'We wouldn't mind taking the girl, either,' Nathan added in last-minute, his gaze raking me. I stepped back, my eyes wide. 'Throw her in as part of the deal too. Because if memory serves, our lives were cut too short to ever have much fun.'

Charlie laughed in cold agreement.

I shivered, as a chill ran across my skin. They were talking about me like I was some _thing_.

A thing they wanted to overuse, and break.

And throw away . . .

'Such depravity . . . to think this is fun. Like this is some sort of _child's game_ to you?' Jesse asked with much incredulity.

'We were killed,' Robin said, his voice taking on a sort of inhuman quality. 'What kind of game do you think _that _is? _Parcheesi_? Sure, we blackmailed him . . . but did we deserve to _die _for it?'

No.

And yes.

Paul dropped my arm and started walking a bit towards the three. I happen to notice that Bart was nowhere in sight, much to my chagrin.

God, that little _shit_.

Even though he was a wimp, I kind of thought it would be nice to have four against three.

'I don't know what, exactly, you all deserve,' Paul said, stopping right in front of them. Charlie stepped forward a bit and looked down on him like a little kindergartner looks down on an ant it's about to fry with a magnifying glass. 'But,' Paul continued, 'after all you've done to make our lives hell and . . . and taking Dani's away from her completely . . . I think you all definitely deserve this.'

With that, Paul laid an almighty blow to the face of Charlie.

And all hell broke loose.

Charlie, besides overcoming some shock, hardly seemed to be affected by punch, and was able to lay one right back on Paul. I tried to run over and give Charlie a piece of my mind for it, but Jesse placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.

'You don't want to do that, Susannah,' Jesse said in a hushed tone, looking like he was trying to control anger. Hah. I wonder what he would have been like if I told him that Robin had almost had my pants off.

'No, she doesn't,' Nathan growled. 'She'd rather do . . . _other things_. With me.'

I glared at Nathan with utter disgust.

Yes. Other things. Decapitation is MUCH more appealing than punching, AFTER ALL.

'What do you mean, _other things_?' Jesse asked, getting rather defensive. 'What are you saying about _mi_ Susannah?'

'Reality check . . . she doesn't seem to belong to you anymore, _cowboy_,' Nathan hissed. 'She's been a screwing the lawyer over there, if you haven't noticed. We saw her . . . dirty, energetic little thing, she is. Passionate, you know? Kind of makes me jealous –'

'SHUT UP,' I freaked, deeply humiliated.

Nathan's gaze snapped to me, and he tossed his head. 'Danielle was okay,' he went on. 'Nothing on what we saw from Susie – but still good. When we were done, though . . . we couldn't think of any further use for her. I mean, when she decided halfway through that she wanted to do things the hard way, and we . . . needed to force things out of her, it was getting a little irritating. That said, though, Robbie _adored_ it when she tried to fight him off, and when she screamed, and he was able to shove her back down – '

The vivid mental flashes of such malicious violence were horrifying . . .

'Don't you _say_ such things about a woman,' Jesse warned, enraged.

Nathan's eyes flashed with humour – a brief disturbance to the hate and the darkness that stung his gaze.

'Why not? It's all they're good for,' he sneered.

An acute chill left me numb with coldness.

Oooh . . . NOT a nice thing to say.

Jesse's face crumpled into an intense glare of revulsion.

Then he tackled him to the ground, hitting him over and over again.

Nathan was able to fight back, however.

And then I was left on my own. Which was a big mistake as long as Robin Lawrence was around.

Gulp.

Especially when the Rob Man TOTALLY came at me from behind. I felt forceful arms grab me around my waist, making me squeak in shock. However, I think I was very within my rights to aim a backwards kick into his dead dangly bits.

He moaned, and threw me away from him.

Gotta appreciate the masculine weak spot. Gets 'em every time.

'THIS,' I spat, 'Is for trying to - YOU KNOW - '

I kicked him again in THAT area.

'That's for being an ASSHOLE in GENERAL – '

I repeated my actions.

'And that's for Dani - '

On THAT attempted kick, however, he caught my ankle with both of his hands - that had previously been defending his minced meat - and he flipped twisted my leg so I lost my balance. I landed on my back. He completely tried to come over me, but I kicked up against his chest EXTRA hard. He fell away, his hair catching a gleam of light from outside the window.

I breathed hard.

'I'm going to kill you,' he promised me solemnly; murderously. 'Mark my words Susie.'

I laughed, and scrambled up, my fist landing heavily on his temple. It hurt him, but he completely IGNORED it, instead raising his arm up, and thumping down forcefully on my shoulder. My knees went weak from the shock of pain and I stumbled back, but I retaliated with a swift, hard sucker punch.

'AH!' I heard Paul yell, and turned my head to see the cause of his outrage: he'd fallen, and Charlie had kicked his stomach with cold brutality.

Unfortunately, witnessing this for mere seconds resulted in my receiving a smack across my face. Robbie then started with a round of assaults as if I were his piñata and he was trying to tear out the candy from within.

. . . Okay, ewww.

But seriously, um, WOMAN-BEATER MUCH? A fiery adrenaline ignited with full force, and I seized his shoulders before repeatedly kneeing HIM in the groin region. The noise he released was like a dog that had just gotten its tail stepped on.

My breath was short, and sharp, and painful. His eyes were dark as hell, and his hair was no longer sophisticated looking by ANY means - it was chaotic from the movement.

He grabbed MY arms, and shoved me back. As I was getting my balance back, he'd strode over again, and pushed me backwards AGAIN. I didn't realise why, until I felt the solid wall behind me. I heard cracking beneath my feet and saw that I'd stepped on the mirror that they'd broken before. With aggressive force, he pushed me against the wall, his hands painfully gripping my upper arms.

I gasped on impact, because my head TOTALLY got bashed in the process. 'Get OFF - '

He crushed me there, hard. His chest was completely against mine. I tried to grab a breath, but he'd pressed against me totally. I turned my head a bit, and I tried to somehow, push him away, but he was holding my arms at an uncomfortable angle so I could not achieve this.

'I'm wondering if I should continue where I left off,' he snarled at me. 'Wear you out till there's nothing left of you . . . '

Um. Okay, he obviously didn't know that the average male can only go for fifteen minutes.

'After the amount of times I kicked your dick, I'm pretty sure I've inverted it,' I retorted.

I tried to kick his kneecaps, but he shook me up before slamming me against the mirrorless wall once more. UH, IT HURT. And if I SLIPPED at all, I'd totally cut myself on the shards of glass that were littered dangerously across the floor, and I'd DIE FROM BLOOD LOSS.

Which isn't very cool.

With me in this position of vulnerability, he took that opportunity to strike me heavily with his fist. I whimpered in a pathetic way, crumpling in pain, but he wouldn't let me slip; he was not done.

And he pummeled my stomach repeatedly, making me groan every time.

THIS WAS NOT A GOOD THING. NO, NO, NO.

I mean – he was going to prevent me from having CHILDREN in a second. It felt like he was about to break one or SEVEN of my RIBS or something.

Suddenly, thinking on my feet, I yelled, 'No, go back, it's not safe, Mr Head!' and he spun around wildly.

That was all I needed; I jerked away from the wall, before aiming a hefty kick to his jaw.

Wow, I didn't know I could get my leg that kick.

His head snapped back for a second, but he looked back at me, furious that I'd managed to deceive him. He made another move toward me, but I kicked at his chest, making him fall back.

His eyes flashed in pure rage. I swallowed, almost losing in myself in his dark, portentous web of terror that endeavoured to trap me with lethal resolve.

I didn't let him overwhelm me though. If I was going to beat him, I couldn't let him scare me . . .

I mean, yes. He'd been VERY close to sexually assaulting me a very short while ago. Serious, you have NO idea how lucky I'd been to have escaped from that. He was just a zipper away.

Suddenly, Paul's shouts ruptured my fearful thoughts.

'GET - '

Charlie had a large piece of broken mirror to Paul's neck. Heart stopping, I ran toward Charlie, jumping on his back and rolling him off of Paul. He roared in shock, and we landed so he was on top of me, face-up. He was HEAVY, man! My arms were wrapped around his neck, and I felt winded.

Ow -

'You interfering little - ' Charles began wrathfully, but then settled for slashing the glass down my arm. I shrieked and released his neck immediately, and I felt blood dribbling down my skin already from the gash. An intense, instant stinging seared up to my shoulder, and I panted.

'Suze!' Paul yelled, before going completely PSYCHOTIC at Charlie, kicking him like there was no tomorrow, and there'd been too many un-avenged yesterdays.

Jesse was waging war with Nathan still. He was totally winning. But that was because he too had an advantage over the living; his injuries lasted mere seconds whilst mine and Paul's slowed us down. Being alive sucks that way. So Jesse and Nathan were VERY much so even in their fight, and Jesse just proved to be the better man.

I didn't blame Paul for getting his ass a little kicked by Charlie.

I mean, let's face it, the guy was HUGE. Paul's really strong, but Charlie just beat him in MASS. He was a GIANT.

Not that Paul wasn't giving what he was getting. He was kicking ass too.

I coughed, and sat up, holding my bleeding arm - Christ, the cut was like, six inches long and also DEEP. It was NOT cool.

However, I hadn't gotten much further than getting to my knees when a violent explosion of pain hit the side of my head, and I was knocked against the ground.

Oh yeah: Robin.

To make matters worse, I felt ANOTHER splinter of the shattered mirror carve at the skin of my shoulder blade beneath me, making me wheeze abruptly. Robin crawled over me again, and held me down powerfully. However, I managed to jerk my arm from beneath his hand, and TOTALLY elbow him in the face, knocking his head sideways a little. It wasn't enough to remove him off of me entirely.

That's when I felt two hands slide around my neck, and constrict with pressure I didn't know was possible.

My first instinct was to scream.

But I couldn't.

My airways were blocked off. My eyes bulged in horror, and I tried clawing at his face to get him OFF of me - to make him stop strangling me. The pressure in my head was building up as I wasn't getting oxygen. He was pressing against throat.

I couldn't breathe. At all. I tried to - I struggled - he only smirked more . . . his eyes were so DARK, and he was laughing and - he was so far gone from humanity . . . I was choking and he went all blurry for a second and then sharper but then really cloudy again - his eyes were intense, and they cut like the glass from the mirror and I couldn't breathe . . .

His face was composed of power, hate, pain, fury, victory, and – and _arousal_. As if THIS was turning him on. You know – having a defenseless girl writhing beneath him, with his fingers around her neck as he squeezed the life out of her . . .

A tyrant over whether I lived or died.

He looked like he was relishing this FAR more than he would have been if he were inside me.

And I'm sorry, but that was fucking SCARY.

Sick, sick, sick, twisted, evil, wrong, corrupt, dark, psychotic, perverted, depraved, _sick_ . . .

Previously in this situation, when Robin Lawrence has been well on the way to killing me by means of strangulation, Paul or Jesse or someone'd always show up. They'd pull him away, or he'd just dematerialise due to their presence. However, this time, that wasn't the case.

_**Why, Susie Simon, can we never manage to kill you?**_

He'd asked me that once.

I'd responded:

_**Maybe I'm not supposed to die.**_

Because I had honestly believed it. I couldn't imagine leaving this world because some GHOST had offed me.

I thought that this God would be just enough to let me die with SOME dignity. I thought I'd been saved each of those times for a reason; because I was not meant to go in such a way. That I had another purpose later on that required me to be alive for.

However, as the face of death that hovered above me, the devastating realisation that I was HORRIBLY deluded misinformed hit me with a faith-shattering force.

Yeah.

The ghost above me was killing me. Murdering me. Stealing my LIFE with his own two hands.

No one was stopping it this time.

I wasn't meant to live for some great purpose.

I was meant to die.

Here.

And now.

_**I'm going to kill you. Mark my words Susie.**_

He'd told the truth . . .

The blackness clouded over my vision quickly as my brain just . . . stopped. So did my heart. My pulse. My blood. My sense of smell.

Everything just stopped.

The sounds - grunts of pain, growls of effort, roars of rage - just faded out, and stopped.

The pain stopped, too.

The fear; the shock; the horror lived on.

But yeah, the thing that killed me the most was the end of my faith.

I didn't even REALISE I'd had any real faith in God until that moment. I'd always thought that, when I died, I wouldn't really care . . . I mean, after all, I didn't really BELIEVE in God, right? What had He ever done for me? Except send me this stupid mediator ability?

But I DID believe. Only then did I realise how much.

Only THEN did I realise how badly I wanted to live.

And how much I was hating Him.

I did believe. That realisation rushed at me FORCEFULLY, like a bullet through the skull. I did believe, and I'd been betrayed so _cruelly_ . . .

I didn't understand, as life was slipping away with consciousness, how He could have done this? How could God have disposed of me so pathetically? How could He have allowed me to be murdered like THIS?

At these hands.

These _cold, cold hands_?

Why?

. . . How _could_ He?

The last thing I felt was the tear that slid from my eye.

Then I felt absolutely nothing.

It all stopped.

_That's what death felt like._

_

* * *

_

**Review. **

**Hayley and I truly want to know how much you hate us. **


	31. Even in Death

**MUAHAHAHA.**

**We're baaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaack . . .**

**Chapter Thirty-One, for your reading pleasure.**

**Also, did you REALLY think that me and Hayley would just LEAVE FLASHLIGHT WITH THIRTY CHAPTERS?**

**I mean, we're evil, but not THAT evil.**

**Give us SOME credit. We ARE literature buffs.**

**Lolly.**

**- 8 -**

. . . It may just be a simple ellipsis, but in its simplicity I can better describe the first moments of death.

It was nothing. I couldn't feel anything at all, not even numbness because, well, there was nothing else to feel numb. After all, I was kind of . . . you know . . .

Dead.

I remember a lot of darkness, the kind of darkness that was surrounding. I was aware of it, but in a most detached sort of way. It didn't really affect me because I didn't feel anything. It was just this state of pure _nothingness_.

I can't really say it was like sleeping, because when you're sleeping you're sort of aware of things like the pace of your breathing or maybe a ray of sun shining on your closed eyes. I wasn't breathing and I can guarantee you that there was no sun where I was. _Wherever_ that was.

I don't even think where I was was a place. It was more like a state of being only . . . I wasn't _being_.

I don't really know how long that moment of nothingness lasted. Time seemed completely irrelevant and lost. It could have been days, years . . . maybe an eternity. Who knew? Who _cared_?

All I know is that eventually I found myself in a place kind of like Shadowland. In fact, it WAS Shadowland. I don't think I could ever forget the place. You know, the never ending hallway with it's vast span of doors leading who knew where, with the sky and the shimmering, unfamiliar constellations that looked just the same as ever. Oh, and who could forget that fog? That frosty, chilling fog that seemed to blanket the ground beneath my feet.

As soon as I was finally aware, I found myself slipping to the ground. I felt a little uneasy on my legs because however long earlier, I didn't have legs. I didn't have anything.

I stood up again and brushed myself off unnecessarily. That's when I noticed the glow that was radiating all around me.

And that's when I knew that I was really and truly dead.

Well, that was great. I went through the whole death thing and then I was stuck there in Shadowland, not knowing where to go or what to do. I mean, where the heck was that Gladiator-Guy that guarded the place? Wasn't it, like, his job to make sure I went where I was supposed to go?

What if this was the place I was supposed to be? What if my afterlife consisted of wandering this hallway for the rest of my days like Mr. Russell Crowe Wannabe? Maybe it was my punishment. As if the last five years of my life wasn't punishment enough . . . now I had to spend the rest of my days in this really creepy hallway all by myself. Just me and the _fog_.

You know, all these years I was right. This _was _hell. I don't care how many times Paul tried to convince me it wasn't.

I wanted out of this place so badly, so desperately. But I didn't know how to escape. If I hadn't been so emotionally drained, I would have probably started crying right then and there.

What good is crying when you're _dead_? As far as the universe is concerned, your tears don't _exist_ anymore. Not that the universe EVER cared for me, but still.

I felt the worst combination of emotions . . . both useless and helpless. There wasn't a thing I could do about it. It was so unfair just dying like that at the hands of some horny dead guy out for a little vengeance and a lot of action. And since he didn't get the latter, he decided to just go ahead and kill me.

I was looking down at my feet and the surrounding fog. I noticed, however, that the fog started to stir. Usually it was still . . . there was no wind here in Shadowland. But it was moving.

I glanced behind me and to my horror, I saw this wall of pure, black darkness. It, like the fog, was moving . . . toward me. On it's way, it was engulfing the hallway, the doors, even the fog. If I didn't start running, it would probably swallow me too.

So run I did.

As I ran, I kept looking straight ahead so I wouldn't trip and end up Darkness-Dinner. I noticed that, far away in the distance, there was this outstandingly white light, but it seemed so far away.

I remembered something that our favorite A-List wannabe once told me . . .

_Don't go into the light._

He had told me that when I was in Shadowland trying to find Jesse. He told me I didn't belong there. Now that I did belong there . . . wouldn't it seem practical to run for the light?

I always kind of wondered what would happen if I went into the light. But it didn't seem like I would ever find out because the more I ran, the farther away the light came to be.

It was frustrating and disheartening at the same time. If I couldn't go into the light, then that meant . . . that meant I had to be swallowed by the darkness.

God, Suze, just DON'T STOP RUNNING . . .

I was scared. I didn't know that even in death, I was capable of fear. But it seemed that I very much so was. Because this darkness that seemed determined to suck me away into oblivion was following me, and was getting closer . . . and I didn't want it to catch me.

I had to run from it.

I whipped my head and looked at the creeping darkness behind me. I didn't want to resign myself to the darkness. It looked so dangerous, so dark, so deadly. And, to tell you the truth, I didn't want to die yet . . . but it was too late.

Why did the light go away? I was supposed to go into the light, wasn't I? How can I go into it when the frigging light KEEPS ON MOVING? Did that mean that I actually _wasn't_ supposed to?

If the light wasn't the way to go, then that meant that the only way to go was the darkness. But I was afraid of the darkness. The fear I felt was so great that it was like all my fears were made manifest in this one gigantic, consuming wall of black.

What did I do with all my fears when I was living? I ran. And now that I was dead, I was doomed to do the same thing. I felt like I was running on some freaking treadmill or trying to go up the 'down' escalator or something like that. The more I ran, the more I saw that it was hopeless.

If I wanted to escape the darkness, I had to run for all eternity. Part, if not all, of me was actually willing to do that as long as I didn't get trapped in this shadowy destiny. Keep running, keep running, KEEP RUNNING! It's not like I would ever get tired, right?

Well, that wasn't the case then. I guess my spirit was so used to having lungs that I still felt it necessary to have air. I had to ignore the urge to stop and breathe even though I felt as if I were suffocating. It really got me thinking . . .

Who the HELL would want to spend eternity running? It may have been effective when I was alive, but it just seemed rather pointless now.

And even though I believed I could keep running for eternity . . . wasn't it about time that I stopped running away?

Wasn't it about time that I stilled my flying feet, stood my ground, turned around, and faced my fear?

I was dead.

I'd run out of time.

But . . . it didn't matter. If I was meant to get swallowed by this dark wall, then let it be. I had to turn over my fears to fate and let destiny run its course, whatever that happened to be. Whatever God wanted it to be.

The light up ahead of the door-lined hallway suddenly didn't seem so glorious anymore. It didn't seem like such a sanctuary to me now. It was just another stopover, where I'd rest, but then find myself being forced out by more and more of my emerging fears.

I can't run from fear.

It IS everywhere.

No matter how much I try to kid myself, the darkness is everywhere.

And there has to be a point that I twist fear's testicles and kick its ass.

To put it politely and all.

So I stopped.

I stopped running.

I turned around.

I stared at the oncoming cavity of black nonexistence.

As much as it scared me; terrified me; paralyzed me, I didn't run away. Faster and faster it advanced upon me.

And when it was near enough, I jumped into it.

. . . For a moment, I hung, immobile, suspended in something that felt so much lighter than gravity. I could only breathe. Well, breathe is sort of a strong word for it, since I really didn't need oxygen at the time.

Suddenly, it felt as though I was being _torn apart_ by something. I started screaming, as pressure tried to rip pieces away from me, and wind was rushing at me, and I was falling, and I wanted to give up, and I wanted to run, but I wasn't going to because I had to prove to myself that, even in death, I had the courage to face what scared me.

If I didn't prove it then . . . then I never would.

The pain in my head and in my ears was atrocious. This WHISTLING noise was all I heard, which almost drowned out my screaming. Pain was pumping throughout my body, like poison; perilous. My muscles were shrieking from being tensed so fiercely, and the pressure in my mind was overwhelming . . . deadly . . . hopeless.

It was beyond endurance . . . I wanted to let go . . . to just keep falling ceaselessly . . .

But I had to endure the pain. I knew I did.

If I didn't, I'd truly be lost. Everything that I had fought for in my life and death would be gone.

I mean, I'd already lost my FAITH in God. I didn't want to lose my true essence.

The essence that Paul still saw from when I was sixteen; that I don't give up.

_Come on, Suze . . . _

I screamed louder as agony sliced at my body, my mind, my soul . . .

. . . Was this hell?

The darkness that blinded me on psychological levels as well as literal was killing me . . . no, really, killing what was left of the ghost that I was there . . .

_Suze, come on . . . don't let go this time . . . _

_Don't feel the pain . . . USE it._

And with a new mindset, I channeled the pain . . . I channeled it into something that would defeat the darkness . . .

With a final scream of fury, and blazing determination, there was an explosion of luminous, blinding light that was burnt into my memory with a glorious purity, and all of a sudden, there was no pain anymore.

There was only the awareness that the darkness was gone, and that I'd made it go.

I'd conquered it.

I'd been _strong enough_ . . .

- S -

I found myself surrounded by this entrancing light. Its brilliantly white intensity seemed to hypnotize me. The darkness had been cold and icy, but this new light . . . it was so warm and inviting. This had been the warmth that I'd always been searching for all my life. There was no physical description for what it was, besides . . . well, _light. _ I felt this new sense of peace and tranquility . . . like everything would be okay after all.

It was more than okay . . . it was perfect.

More than just the white light was the feeling that accompanied me in this place. I became something glorious, something magnificent that I could not even describe.

Best of all was the total and utter resurrection of my faith. The shattered pieces mended themselves over, and it glittered once again, restored.

I was filled with this raw integrity that cleansed me from the inside of my soul. It was divine, and loving, and protecting and empowering and peaceful and so, so gentle . . . I just knew I wasn't the same Suze anymore . . . I was something bigger, better, more superior to what I was when I was alive.

I had always felt this great emptiness in my life . . . one that I supposed was incurable. Now, I felt complete wholeness. Total absolution. Everything had righted itself, and nothing would ever cause turmoil ever again.

Everything was chaste, and pure, and _so good_ . . . the immaculate simplicity lifted me up till I experienced elation to which earth's happiness could not compare. My heart sang and my mind was at peace and my body felt no pain at all and my skin tingled from the melodic tranquility. It was like . . . music that couldn't be heard, but could be felt. It was like a song that I knew the tune to all my life and only now was I singing the lyrics.

I was glowing now. I was weightless; flawless; strong; complete. I was _radiant_. I shone.

I was forever.

. . . I _owned _forever.

The experience was something mysterious, something sacred, something purely holy that I cherished with all of my being, and my total ability to love.

I was filled with this new knowledge. It was a revelation one would get when shown the answers to a test after they'd taken it. I knew what went wrong, and how I could correct it. This existence felt like a secret that had finally been uncovered. It didn't matter anymore, but just knowing put my once restless spirit at more ease.

I felt like I was floating on warmth and delighted inspiration. Gentle warmth caressed my physically, psychologically, spiritually, religiously . . . in almost every possible way. It comforted me, surrounded me, welcomed me, and soothed me. I was smiling. I was free from the chains of being mortal. I was infinite and innocent.

This brilliant blue globe appeared out of nowhere, surrounded by a halo of golden shimmer that lit it up magically. Something, I don't quite know what, was guiding me in the direction of it. I stared at the golden shimmer around it, curious as to what purpose the orb served.

_You have to go, Suze._

I whipped around and searched for the source of the voice that resonated around and through me. It sounded familiar. If I wasn't mistaken, it kind of sounded like my dad –

It couldn't be.

. . . Could it? Was he here? Was he waiting for me?

Why did he want me to leave? I'd just GOTTEN here. Wasn't this where I was supposed to be?

_No, you have to go._

I . . . I wanted to stay, though. Forever. This was what perfection felt like, and to tell you the truth, I loved it. Everything here was right, and everything down there was wrong.

_You have to go back to save them._

In the sphere of luminous sapphire splendor, a vision of Paul and Jesse struggling with the Misforts appeared. The situation hadn't gotten any better since I'd died. Paul, after being knocked to the ground, stood up on two wobbly feet, trying to regain his composure only to be knocked to the ground again and again by Robin and Charlie.

He – he was _crying_. I could barely tell, but the repeated glinting in his eye couldn't indicate otherwise. Something told me it had something to do with me. And Jesse . . . Jesse was devastated.

Then I saw me. My body, I mean. It was just . . . _there_.

It was painful to watch. I didn't want to go back to the pain . . . there wasn't pain here. I was scared to go back.

Besides, how could I save them? Paul, actually, since Jesse was already dead. I couldn't save Jesse . . . But yeah, they were just about as doomed as I was. What could I possibly do? I didn't know.

Going back would mean living again. And . . . I wasn't sure if I could face it. Not after this. Not after I'd tasted this blissful rapture. I wasn't brave enough to go back. Not when I felt so safe here. So protected from the hostilities of life and mortality.

And besides, if I went back . . . I'd just die again. I didn't know how to get rid of the Misfortunates. Not quickly enough to get out of the school alive. Robin would kill me again.

And I –

Suze. You're preparing to run again. Don't. Don't you _dare_ start running again.

Face it.

_Yes. Face it. Be brave, Susannah. Live. Living takes true bravery. This bravery is something that is innate in you. You were born with it. It's in your essence. _

But I didn't know how to stop the Misfortunates –

_Yes you do. Think, Suze._

What?

What the hell was I supposed to do? I mean, to defeat them. I'd failed bitterly last time. What good would a second chance draw do? I couldn't kill them. They were already dead –

But suddenly, this knowledge from somewhere just flooded into me with warmth and virtuosity.

. . . And I smiled.

_Good, Susannah. Very good . . . _

I had my weapon. I had my power. And I had my confidence, because my dad, Peter Simon, was telling me I could achieve it.

And I was believing him.

I mean . . . I could face the darkness, then I could definitely face whatever hell was being raised down there. From the scene, it didn't look so good. Paul seemed to be in a lot of pain, emotionally and physically. Jesse was touched on a completely different level . . . I couldn't even describe the sad expression on his face.

Not only did I owe it to myself to go back . . . I owed it to my friends who were down there fighting to the bitter end with these ghosts.

'Dad?' I whispered, speaking for the first time.

Even my voice sounded so much fuller. It was rich and silken and mellifluous. It delighted even _my _ears. It was as if earth could not provide such quality of sound. It was so euphonious that it was almost intoxicating. The sound was like a drug to me . . . it made me feel so tingly and high, but in a good way.

I awaited the response with a – well, okay, not a thudding heart, but it WOULD have been thudding if I had been alive, so there.

_Yes._

I sucked in a breath. The air – was it even air? It was more like immortality – was warm as it glided down my throat, and filled my body with even more sublime purity.

Suddenly, I had a million and one things to say to him, but I couldn't get a single word out. It all ran through my mind at a million and one miles an hour – speeds that I couldn't comprehend – but it seemed that I didn't have to say anything.

You didn't have to say or think anything here. This place was everything and nothing at the same time.

_I know, Suze_.

I blinked quickly at the response, which caught me off guard. This abundance of emotion started manifesting in me, as I radiated even brighter. 'I'm sorry about – '

_I know._

'I don't hate you, I could _never_ hate y – '

_Suze . . . I know. It's clear here. You don't understand yet . . . but it's not the time for you to. You're don't belong here. Not yet. It's not your time._

I didn't know why, but . . . suddenly I could feel tears falling. I sniffed hurriedly, and brushed my eyes with the back of my hand. The tears that glistened back looked crystal. They didn't even look like water. More like diamond.

'Are you happy here?' I asked, not wanting to disturb the gentle silence of the serenity.

I craved to know the answer. My dad had been living a dead life while he'd been haunting me. He hadn't been happy. He'd never truly been happy . . .

_Oh, yes. Again, Suze, you can't fully understand how much. Most of my happiness though, still is a direct result from what's going on in the plane of the living._

'What do you mean?'

_. . . You._

I stared at the blue sphere of light, and I blinked down even more tears.

They seemed so accepted here. Like I didn't have to be ashamed of them anymore.

I had nothing to be ashamed about because I was perfect here. I didn't have to hide anything anymore. I was just me.

_You, Suze. _

_I love you so much. You can't begin to imagine how proud I am of you. I know that life can be hard sometimes, but even though you don't see it, you've fought through with a quiet courage that I could only expect from my daughter._

'Really?' I didn't believe him.

After all of the running I'd been doing . . . so much it was EMBARRASSING – I couldn't believe his words. After what I had said to him . . . how could he still love me and be proud of me . . . especially since I was so rotten to him.

_Really. I don't know who you get that from, me or your mother . . . probably her._

I choked on a strangled laugh.

_Go now._

'One last question,' I said quickly, 'Is . . . is Dani here?'

There was a silence that didn't even seem uncomfortable. Even _that_ was filled with unbelievable warmth.

_Yes._

I smiled very slightly.

'Tell her I said thanks . . . '

_She already knows._

Whoa, SORRY for underestimating the SUPER FAST MAILING SYSTEM HERE.

'Oh,' I mumbled, 'Okay. Well – '

_Go_.

'But – '

_Susannah, don't make me embarrass you . . . I will, and you know it. Now go._

I giggled a little, and nodded. 'Love you, Dad . . . '

I reached out and touched the scene on the orb and found myself being sucked into it vacuum. I was being sucked away from my sanctuary and into a complete war zone.

But now I was prepared.

- 8 –

The next thing I know, I'm back in this world, greeted by a few million loud sounds and a strong urge to choke. I did choke . . . if fact, I woke up gasping for air. It felt like I had been holding my breath for a really long time. All my blood started rushing to my face as I grabbed my chest and coughed.

A lot of the crashing that was going on before my coughing spell continued on without end. I guess no one realized that I was resurrected or whatever. Then again, that might have worked to my advantage, so I kept quiet for the most part. It was kind of hard to with all the uncontrollable coughing and stuff.

And just when I was starting to get the hang of the breathing thing again, some debris from the ongoing battle fell on my stomach. I let out a small groan in pain and sat up wearily, throwing the rubble off of me. It turned out that most of it was coming from Paul, who was randomly throwing things around with telekinetic ability.

The only thing was, he wasn't throwing the stuff at the Misforts necessarily. His emotions were causing him to throw things sporadically around, without any real sense of focus.

I could feel the strength of Paul's scattered yet powerful emotions. Most of it was comprised of anger, which felt directed mostly at Robin who had killed me earlier. But the one that was stronger than that was misery. Paul was anguished, tormented, and completely wretched. I could tell, not only by his facial expression, but also in his manner.

His actions were so uncharacteristically un-thought out and un-strategic that it seemed that nothing mattered to him anymore. He wasn't trying to be defensive; he just kept attacking with as much force as he could muster.

That meant that even though he was dealing some heavy blows, he wasn't really stopping the ones coming at him.

I did want to run away. Very badly, I'm afraid to say. But I knew I couldn't. My Dad had given me reason to stay. He'd told me the way it had to be done. Wordlessly, he'd given me the key to unlocking an unknown part of my shifting power. A part that I never knew was even _possible_. I bet this knowledge was even beyond Paul, who I used to think knew everything.

It was breaking my heart to see him struggle so much. I could tell that it was torturing him within every ounce of his body. He was realizing that there are some things that even he, Paul Slater, could not even control. He couldn't save Dani from dying, there was no way he could have prevented my first death, and there didn't seem to be a way for him to control the Misforts' bad behavior.

There was a way, I knew now. It was up to me to restore order and bring hope back to the broken SIA.

The ballroom was a complete mess. There was crap everywhere. If I thought the broken mirror before had been messy, it was nothing compared to now. All the things that were stacked against the wall before? Um, yeah, they were now spread across the room, in millions of pieces.

And of course . . . the dust was a real problem. I couldn't stop coughing. I tried to quieten myself, but after a moment, it was a final cough that caught the attention of Jesse.

He was over in the opposite corner, fighting off Nathan who once again, looked kind of . . . stiff. I don't know. He looked like that the first time I saw him after Dani's murder. It was like he was guilty, but he was trying not to show it. I guess it was going to take him a couple more homicides before he got used to the guilt, huh?

But yeah, Jesse completely stopped, looking shocked; disbelieving.

He said something, but I couldn't hear what. Then, he dematerialized, and moments later, I felt his hands on my back, rubbing it urgently in order to help me breathe again properly. It was like, after death, I'd just . . . forgotten how or something.

'_Nombres de Dios_,' Jesse's eyes were positively huge, 'Susannah . . . '

However, uh, yeah, just by Jesse stopping the vicious combat, that caused Nathan to completely scream in outrage, 'WHAT THE HELL? BUT – ROBBIE KILLED YOU!'

Which, you know, made Charlie, Robbie and Paul completely freeze in their chaotic war.

I swear to God, it was as if I'd seen Paul's pupils shrink.

Then, he was pelting over to me and before I could mention that I was kind of having a little trouble breathing, very strong arms were holding me with desperate possession and making my breathing issues a little more difficult. But I didn't care either. Because in . . . wherever I'd been, I hadn't forgotten about Paul. But suddenly, the memory came back with a forceful rush that made me hold him as urgently as he was holding me.

His hand in my hair was shaking. I could feel it against my scalp.

Well, it seemed that HE was having a little problems with his breathing too. His breath was really, really heavy as if he was well on the way to hyperventilation. It seemed strange, to see Paul like this. So . . . out of character for him. He was usually so cool, calm and collected. Acting like he didn't care, or like nothing could affect him.

I guess this was kind of proof that he WAS touchable. There was a little bit of human in Paul. He had vulnerability . . . something he'd certainly never openly show to others.

'Thank God,' he whispered, more to himself than me. 'I was so scared that y - Oh God, I thought that you were g – '

'YOU WERE DEAD!' Robin yelled at us, fuming. 'You – I . . . you stopped breathing! You can't be - !' he took a dangerous step toward me, but with a weary flick of my hand, all three ghosts were propelled backward.

The thing is, I didn't MEAN to do that. I didn't know I could. I just got the impulse to shake my hand, as if someone else was telling me to without telling me the outcome.

I guess it wasn't exactly a sucky consequence, though. I felt like a magician or something, pulling some sort of magic from my sleeve that surprised even me. The best part was that this magic stuff was actually real. No mirrors, no gimmicks . . . it was all me.

'But you were gone for so – how did . . . ?' Paul trailed off, gazing at me, bewildered. His eyes were wet.

Um, he cried for me?

Okay . . . sweet, but ya know, I WAS alive. He could very much so STOP now.

Because the whole Paul-actually-having-some-sort-of-emotion was new to me. Especially emotions that seemed to be meant for me and me alone . . .

Well, actually, that part? I didn't mind that so much.

Because, well – this proved he cared.

About me.

A lot.

And you know, that's always a good thing.

'Not now,' I shook my head. His eyes would not leave my own, as if he was hoping to find some secret buried deeply in my irises or something. That was one thing that wasn't new with Paul . . . his ability to read me like a book. Because I really did have a few secrets of the universe hidden deep inside of me now.

'I can't believe that I almost . . . that you were nearly gone,' he breathed. 'How – '

The Misfortunates would not be distracted for long. Within moments of the little reunion between myself and Paul, they had got back on their feet and were not appreciative at ALL of the fact that I'd knocked them over with my shifting power.

They were so annoyed, in fact, that suddenly Paul and I found OURSELVES shoved back against the wall behind us.

The rude shock drew Paul out of his reverie that I was, you know, un-corpse-like and all . . .

But you know? Getting thrown back against a wall?

Um . . . OW.

That's one thing I didn't miss as a member of the dead . . . no pain.

Okay, NOT appreciating the HOSTILITY after my death-experience. Yeah, that's right. It wasn't even a NEAR death experience. I DIED. I was a ghost. I was nearly non-existent.

But I was back now . . . and this was their sick way of throwing me a welcome back party.

'I'm getting you out of here - ' Paul growled at me, but I wriggled away from him. I was still shaking. I felt tired . . . but even as I thought that, I could feel it building up inside me. Power, I mean. I didn't know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was just adrenaline. Whatever it was, I felt a sudden urgency and anxiousness.

I shook my head at him. It wasn't meant to happen that way. 'No,' I said. 'I have to stay - '

'They will kill you again, Susannah!' Jesse said urgently, 'Go with Slater, this is beyond you now - '

'No it's not.'

I had been beyond this world. I think it's even correct to say that I'd been beyond this UNIVERSE. If anything, I was beyond IT.

'You are NOT invincible, as they just proved, _querida_ - '

'I came back, didn't I? I'm here? I'm ALIVE? I can - '

'Suze,' Paul stood up, and dragged me up with him, 'Come on, this isn't funny - '

'I said NO,' I yelled at him, and he was shoved back by . . . I don't know WHAT by. He landed flat against the wall, his eyes wide.

Jesse stared in awe. 'Susannah . . . what - '

I didn't want to explain this now. How important it was that I did this, I mean. I was the only one who knew what to do now. Paul didn't know this. I'd died to know how to get rid of these three properly. The way they richly deserved . . .

'Don't stop me,' I warned Paul. 'Just don't.'

He was still gazing at me, astonished that I'd forced him back with my power. I'd never done that. I'd never been so flippant with my shifting abilities. In fact, I had tried to avoid it as much as I could because I didn't know enough about it.

This was crucial, though.

I turned away from him, facing the three Misfortunates, who stood glaring at me.

'HOW did you - ' Nathan began, but once again, there was something of the situation that amused Robin.

'Won't give up without a fight, will you? Strong one, aren't you, Susie?' he arched an eyebrow elegantly. 'Well, I guess that this time we kill you, we'll have to guarantee that you'll _stay_ dead.'

An expression so cold was upon my face.

I didn't feel threatened or scared anymore. I felt I had a whole army of people behind me. I did . . . Dani, my dad . . . Paul and Jesse . . .

I had an army.

They gave me strength to overcome this, power to make it happen, and sanctity to do the right thing.

'You say you want life back?' I asked them quietly.

The three of them froze. I had obviously sparked their interest in a completely different way. Before, all they seemed to want was my body. But now it seemed like they wanted _theirs_ back even more.

' . . . What did you say?' Charlie asked me, making sure he'd heard correctly.

'Life,' I said. 'You want it. Right?'

Robin narrowed his eyes. ' . . . Why do you ask?'

I blinked innocently. 'Well, we _still _need to get you out of the school somehow. I was just figuring, I can resurrect you. Here and now. And _then_ will you FINALLY stop trying - and occasionally succeeding - to kill me?'

They were completely silent.

'You want to bring us back,' Nathan said flatly in wonder.

'Yes,' I nodded.

'Suze,' Paul began in outrage, but Jesse shushed him quickly. Jesse looked at me questioningly, but when he saw the amount of confidence in my face, he nodded as if he trusted me to continue.

Robin took a single step forward. 'No you don't,' he answered skeptically. 'You would never want to bring us back to life. Not after what we've done.'

I shrugged. 'Well, our job was to get you out of this school. If you're alive, you wouldn't stay HERE, would you?'

' . . . No.'

'Then that means that we've done our job. Ghosties are gone, we get paid, everyone parties.'

Nathan's eyes were very wide, imagining the possibilities. 'You're . . . serious?'

I rolled my eyes. Seriously, no matter how much older these guys tried to act, they still had no idea. 'YES, already, okay?'

'Resurrection? It's possible?'

'If it wasn't, would I be offering this? My only condition is that you piss off from this school when you're back.'

They were still staring at me. They couldn't believe that I would do such a thing for them. After they'd murdered Dani, murdered me . . . why WOULD I even consider giving them what they craved so badly? Life, I mean.

Well . . . ya know. I'm just nice.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiight, Suze.

They could consider this Christmas in July.

'Okay,' Robin said quickly. 'Done.'

I smiled innocuously, and looked back to Paul. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

_It's not possible_, his eyes told me firmly.

Ah, but Paul, you haven't died for this information, have you? It always helps to get the full perspective of something, even if it does mean looking down on it from ze fluffy clouds above. Or wherever that happened to be.

Jesse was staring at me steadily. His eyes told two stories. The first was of hurt. That I'd never offered to resurrect him in order to save us. Our relationship. Our love.

The second story told me that he knew I had something up my sleeve.

Which I SO did. I was surprised that Paul Slater wasn't giving me that credit. Did he really believe that I'd allow myself to get played by these three aggressive ghosts? No. It's time that I played THEIR game.

. . . And won it.

I could still feel blood on my arm from where Charles had sliced it with the piece of the mirror. It still stung. That was what really told me that I was alive. The pain, I mean. Where I'd been . . . there'd been no pain.

But I didn't belong there. I belonged here.

Here and now.

'Okay,' I said simply. 'Stand against the wall.'

'Why?' Charles was suspicious.

'Well, this'll blast you back,' I said, my eyebrows raised. 'I have to be careful. I AM summoning the remains of your bodies, after all. Don't you realise how complex it'll be, trying to restore you to the way you were, by just working off charred skeletons? I mean, I haven't tried this before. But I know that much. So if you please . . . '

'Will we be the same?' Nathan demanded, sounding nearly hysterical. 'Will we be eighteen again?'

I nodded. 'Of course.'

They all moved back.

'Suze, what are you doing?' Paul demanded. 'This is - '

'The right thing,' I sighed. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. 'Paul, these boys were murdered. They didn't deserve to die. They were only eighteen.'

'YOU didn't deserve to die either!' he snapped at me. 'Or Dani!'

'Slater, stop it - '

'Suze, you know it's not pos - '

Jesse punched Paul in the stomach. Hard. I winced a little, and turned back to Robin, wiping all expression determinedly off of my face. I didn't help Paul no matter how much I wanted to because I needed to keep my focus. If I let anything slip . . . then it was all over.

'He's just jealous,' I smirked at them. 'That I've become more powerful than him . . . '

Robin smiled, as if he understood this craving for power. 'Aaah.'

Understood me? Someone like him could never even DREAM about understanding me . . .

I did not know what it was like to kill for pure arousal. I didn't know what it was like to deliver someone to certain danger. I wasn't capable of hurting anyone out of pleasure. I just . . . I couldn't do that. My humanity didn't allow it.

Revenge, maybe. I know revenge.

Not that vengeance does much good. I mean . . . it makes both parties equally guilty.

I guess that was my anxiety about what was about to happen. My only relief was that this was what my dad had told me to do. He'd said to do it this way, and that it didn't count in the least as . . . you know. Murder. This was unnatural, and it was willed to happen. I was just an instrument in fate's course.

The blood was pumping through my veins. I breathed deeply. God, I never knew how badly I needed air until I didn't have it, courtesy of ROBIN LAWRENCE.

They were all apprehensive, and astounded. 'How long will it take?' Robin demanded.

'God, questions much?' I scoffed. 'It should be instant.'

He nodded, looking away. 'Okay . . . Do it.'

Another lightning-fast flash of pure infuriation made me momentarily drunk on rage again, before I remembered that this wasn't the time to be infuriated by receiving orders from my murderer. I bit my tongue really hard to supress my anger.

I doubt that many people can say they have a murderer. You know, Hey-I-got-murdered-by-so-and-so!

Well, I officially had someone who'd TAKEN MY LIFE.

Wonder if that would get me a job better than Starbucks . . .

Knowing my luck, probably not.

I closed my eyes, and breathed. Deep, deep breaths. A tingling sensation came to my fingertips. It was pleasant at first. Then, suddenly my whole hands went COMPLETELY numb. I kept my eyes shut, and concentrated. The numbness spread up my arms . . .

Three boys. Three bodies. Three deaths to reverse, for the purpose of de -

'Hurry!' Nathan urged, but Robin kicked him and spat, _'Shut up!_

'But she's taking so l - '

However, at that moment, there was this EXPLOSION of something. It came from me, and it landed on them. They were all surrounded by this blinding light. I heard them all yelling and swearing. From the ground, I saw piles of ash appear. Three piles. Slowly, trickles of ashes blew from each pile into the mass of light.

'Suze! What are you doing?' Paul yelled.

'Trust me!' I squeaked back at him, 'Please!'

Oh, ye of little faith, Paul.

The light burnt even brighter. Paul and Jesse had shielded their eyes with their hands. I couldn't. I wanted to, but if I did, it would stop. The light was so shiny and pure that it burned my eyes to look at it. If only I could stop to put on some shades.

No, I had to keep going. I had to end the process, otherwise it wouldn't work. And they'd never leave . . .

When the ash was gone, and the light had died down, I saw the three of them standing there.

Breathing.

. . . Not glowing.

Alive.

Nathan was staring at his hands, inspecting them as if he dared to believe it were true.

Paul ran next to me, whispering in horror, 'Suze, are you seeing what you've just DONE? Or are you COMPLETELY out of your - '

'Shhhh . . . '

Paul had to learn to trust me, as I had learned to trust that what all my dad told me was possible.

Robin started laughing hysterically. 'God!' he cried out, 'It's real. It's . . . this is . . . I can't believe th - '

Charles shoved him happily, and they were delighted when they made full collision with the wall. They had not been able to do that as easily in ghosthood.

I'd done it. I had performed a tri-resurrection. They'd been restored to mortality. Living, breating, human individuals that they were. They felt they'd finally gotten what they deserved . . . their lives back.

Well, were they in for a treat.

'My God,' Nathan said under his breath, 'This is unreal . . . '

'Hmm,' I smiled. 'It is, isn't it?'

Robin's eyes snapped up at me. Gradually, his awed expression slid off his face.

'Catch,' he said softly. 'What's the catch, Susie?'

I sighed pleasantly. 'Yeah, I was hoping we'd get to that . . . '

Paul looked at me sharply. Poor guy. I was REALLY confusing him. I mean, I'd just BROUGHT THREE GHOSTS BACK TO LIFE. I bet HE hadn't done that yet.

SEE? I WEAR THE PANTS IN THIS RELATIONSHIP, PAUL.

. . . Or not.

Nathan and Charlie looked at me also, now in alarm. 'Catch?' they choked out.

'Yeah,' I said. 'What, did you think I brought you back to life with the intention that you live?'

Robin blinked. His dark, sure eyes didn't look so certain anymore. He looked scared. I'm sure I had looked the same way as he was killing me. Now it was his turn. It was _their _turn.

I shook my head solemnly. 'No. I brought you back to life with the intention that you can die.'

This didn't impact them immediately. Beside me, I felt Paul smile in recognition, and he slid his hand in mine.

It felt good to know that my boyfriend didn't think I was a crazy person anymore. Even if boyfriend was sort of a big term for what we were. Paul and I hadn't established that. We'd have plenty of time for that later.

For now, I had some business to attend to.

'WHAT?' Robin snarled wildly, 'What do you MEAN?'

All I could see then in my mind's eye was Robin's eyes looking down at me as he choked me to death. All I saw was his eyes as they were narrowed in stimulation as I was dying. As they condescended me while he was killing me. Conquering me. Murdering me.

And that mental visual spurred the most ferociously fast fire that I'd ever seen.

It started just in front of Charlie, Robin and Nathan, just as a candle flicker. I saw the reflection of it in their eyes. So tiny. But with another push, it spurred into something SO huge and SO deadly.

Nathan screamed. He ACTUALLY screamed. Like a twelve year old boy going through puberty.

'NO!' he begged, 'NOT AGAIN . . . '

Paul squeezed my hand tighter. The flames engulfed them so quickly. The fire was hot, and ever-moving and sweltering and the smoke poured out and they coughed violently and suddenly I didn't want to go through with it but my Dad had told me to do this . . . he'd told me to.

My forehead was glazed with sweat almost immediately, from the intensity of the heat before me. The power that inspired the flames was deep-rooted within me. It was like I wasn't even controlling it – as if it was a magic unto itself; it knew its purpose well and knew that, had I been in complete control over it, it would not have been as effective, due to my apparent reluctance to go through with this.

This power was like a side of me that I dared not imagine.

Or . . . it was like it wasn't even me at all. It was a power invested in me.

I didn't know. But once again, I felt this fully-fledged influence pumping darkly through my body, possessing me and taking over my mind, my breath and my life, and using my as means of channeling a greater intention in the plane of the living.

I was being completely used by an unseen force that I had no hope of reigning. The power belonged in me, but it didn't. It dwelled within me, but it was not mine to use as I wished. I was only vessel for this overwhelming power. And this power would only manifest itself when needed.

Now . . . or when my friends were in danger . . .

When Paul was about to be killed by a bikie dude in the Mission Chapel . . .

When I had some form of control over the power that pulsated through my veins like purified, simplified pain, I tried to pull away from Paul's hand, but when I did, the fire died almost completely, meaning that most of the power was being channeled from me. I had to do this. I grabbed Paul's hand properly, and pushed out all the energy so it manifested itself as the fire that was finally doing justice.

First to go was Charles. He yelled out obscenities at me before combusting in an explosion of dust. Ash. Carbon . . . call it whatever you want.

Of course it wasn't a real death . . . he'd already died that. That resurrection had been unnatural.

And that was my only comfort. You know . . . knowing that I wasn't really a murderer. This death wasn't real. It was only a replica of the original. I was just rewinding, and stopping them becoming ghosts at the exact point of death.

I had not sunk to their level. I was not a murderer.

I was just a shifter. A mighty powerful one, at that.

Horrified, Nathan started screaming even more. I hated the sound of it. I mean, he was scared. He was begging me to stop in a most guilty way. A feeling tugged at my heart that was close to sympathy, but not enough to stop what was happening. I reasoned, had HE stopped when I'd been begging him to?

No.

Besides, I couldn't stop this. I wasn't in control of it. It was something or someone beyond me that was giving me this strength.

And with a dusty eruption, Nathan too was gone.

Gone . . . from this plane of existence. He was no longer a ghost. He was expelled from the living dimension. As he should have been so long ago.

Robin was swearing unprintables at me. He roared as well. The pain in his voice was atrocious, and cutting and I hated it but it had to happen like this . . .

Paul's hand gripped mine even tighter when it seemed like I was about to pull away once more out of guilt.

I screwed up my face, and tried to push more of the power out before it finished completely.

I just needed something to push Robin Lawrence out of the fire and into the frying pan . . .

'Next time,' I said to Robin, 'Don't fuck with me.'

Shut up! He KILLED me. I'm ALLOWED to be a little . . . _blasphemous_!

And with another surge of raw, fresh, pure astral energy, I heard a final yell of hate and sworn, empty revenge, before with an explosion of basic human form, he disintegrated like the vamps do on Buffy the Vampire Slayer or something.

It was at that EXACT moment though, that Robin's rage had indeed inspired one last attempt of destruction.

Golly . . . ghosts have a really annoying habit of doing this. Right as they're being exorcised or something, they'll always do SOMETHING to piss me off as their goodbye present.

Like when I was exorcising Heather Chambers, she freakin' made a BREEZEWAY fall on me, and nearly crush me to death.

Ghosts really need to get out of this habit. It's totally not cool, you know?

But Robin's last imprint on this sad, sad world was his effective breakage of the chain that was supporting the chandelier, which dangled directly over Paul. I merely heard wind, before I heard a yell, a thump, and a crash. I turned around quickly, and realized that I'd sadly missed the action.

But what had happened was . . . the rickety chandelier had been about to pulverize Paul. But it didn't.

. . . Jesse had saved his life.

Yeah. You read right. JESSE had actually done something positive for Paul Slater. He'd prevented his death.

He'd saw the chandelier dangling menacingly over Paul's head, and as it snapped, pushed Paul away in the nick of time. When the dust settled, I could see that Jesse had landed on top of Paul a few feet away from the fallen crystal. It was really, really close to falling on Paul. It would have, if Jesse hadn't have been there.

And you know, considering the no-love-lost relationship that Paul and Jesse shared . . . I was REALLY proud of this.

Unfortunately, Paul wasn't able to express his immediate gratitude, seeing as in the fall, he'd been knocked out.

Yep, Paul was unconscious.

Also high in suck-factor was the fact that the fire was still VERY much so present, and was currently roaring with life around the ballroom, and I wasn't entirely sure how to make it stop.

'Susannah, get out of here!' Jesse yelled, 'Don't stay, it is dangerous!'

'I can't leave him here!' I shrilled, pointing at Paul's limp form. He didn't look so good, especially now since he had a gash on his head.

It was getting a little harder to breathe with the deadly mixture of thick dust from the old chandelier and black smoke from the fire. We needed to get out.

Jesse couldn't dematerialize with him. Only shifters could materialize with other shifters. Or shifters with ghosts. But NOT the other way around.

Would Jesse be able to CARRY him? Oh GOD –

'Susannah, go! The ballroom doors are blocked off – you will be stuck in here . . . '

In a panic, I jumped over the bits of broken crystal to Paul and Jesse. I hoisted Paul over my shoulder with a humungous groan and tried to find a way to get out of there. It was really hard to see with all the dust and smoke clouding my vision and all.

And plus, um, yeah Paul?

REALLY heavy. You know, DEAD WEIGHT AND ALL?

This proved to be too difficult, since I already felt completely dried up, and I felt myself slumping with Paul on top of me.

'Susannah!'

'I – I can't carry him,' I shook my head. 'He's – I just can't – '

The fire was getting even more out of control, since I was panicking so much. I couldn't figure out how to end it. It just kept getting BIGGER.

Jesse had already pointed out that the ballroom doors were unusable. The only way out now was for me to materialize with Paul. I had never, EVER materialized before, so I was hoping to use that as a last resort.

Apparently, all the other means of escape had already put up their "no vacancy" signs. I had to at least try it.

I was scared. I mean, what if I did it wrong and ended up in some obscure place like Greenland or . . . _Australia_? Wouldn't be that bad . . . if they breed hotties like Hugh Jackman and all. What if it was somewhere worse, like a completely different dimension?

I had to try. For Paul. I had to do this for him.

I closed my eyes and imagined the old, dried up grass in front of the school I imagined the nice, blue cloudless sky above my head and the slight scent of garlic that filled the Gilroy air. I could even feel a cool breeze go through my hair.

When I opened my eyes, I was there.

At first, I didn't really believe that I'd done it. Materialized. I mean, God knows in my twenty three years, I hadn't managed it, even under the most dire circumstances.

And yet, now I had. I didn't know why. I mean . . . I didn't know what I'd done differently.

Except maybe the fact that I'd been more scared about Paul than me. But whatever.

Whatever it was, I just started giggling helplessly. I think I was hysterical for a whole thirty seconds or something. Just – I mean, I'd basically evaded death, hadn't I?

However, I pretty much stopped laughing when I remembered who I was holding onto for dear life.

I looked down, and for the first time, saw how dead Paul looked. Just the vision of him so motionless and unconscious jarred me. His forehead was still bleeding, and there was blood smudged down the right side of his face.

He had to get up. I needed him to.

'Paul,' I whispered desperately, 'Wake up. I'm serious. Paul. Get up now . . . wake _up,_ you ASSHOLE . . . Paul!'

I thwacked his chest passionately.

'Wake UP!' I shouted at him. 'NOW.'

And then suddenly, for no reason in particular, I just started crying.

'Paul!' I screamed at his face, as I started shaking him. 'Listen to me! You need to . . . you need to wake up now!'

He just wasn't moving. And the fact that I'd only been recently dead myself was just a bit DISTRESSING for me. Did I look like that? When I'd been gone? What if he wasn't unconscious? What if he was DEAD?

Maybe it was the fact that his face was so still . . . maybe it was because the cut on his forehead was still freely bleeding with thick, crimson steadiness. Maybe it was because I'd accidentally gotten some of the blood from my gashed arm in his, and if either of us had AIDS, we'd suddenly DIE.

Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't told him yet . . .

Because he'd told me. And I still hadn't told him. And then I'd been dead. And he hadn't really known. Or even if he had, I hadn't confirmed it.

I'd died with him not knowing. And now he wasn't able to HEAR it, I was completely terrified.

That he never WOULD hear it, I mean.

'Paul! Wake UP, DAMN IT!' I yelled at him, and slapped his face, hard. Screw neurological damage! Tears were free falling now. I hated crying. I hated him not knowing. '_Slater_!'

I was about to slap him again, when I felt him shudder. Then his eyes opened suddenly, before closing again as he winced, holding his head.

And then, he uttered one glorious, sacred word that made me realise that he was alive.

'_Shit_.'

He felt pain! YAY! He wasn't in the white place!

I sucked in sharply, before just . . . falling on him, hugging him to death and kissing him. I guess that took him by surprise. You know, seeing as he'd just regained consciousness and all. But he caught on quickly, by going, 'Suze . . . ?'

I didn't even dignify that with an answer. If he couldn't tell it was me, that was his own problem.

Then, I told him.

I made sure he heard me.

I knew he had, because he looked back up at me intensely, before pulling my face down again. And he was kissing me.

Note to self: Die more often. Makes kissing a WHOLE lot better.

He knew now. Good. As long as he knew . . .

Then he stopped kissing me, and he sat up, pulling me against him. He was holding me possessively.

'I love you too,' he replied.

Such powerful words . . .


	32. Lucky

**OF COURSE IT'S NOT OVER YET! **

** PFFT! **

** Love Layley.  
**

* * *

I pulled away from Paul's arms after several moments of intense silence. Swallowing down a world of pain for the last time, I looked up at him and smiled.

It felt like it was over.

It wasn't . . . but at least it felt like it.

'We'd . . . um - we'd better get back,' I mumbled, brushing a long lock of hair off of my face.

Paul trailed a finger down my cheek, but then nodded in agreement. He stood up I went to do so as well, but . . . oh my God, suddenly everything just got HEAVY. One second, I'd been fine, but then I was just . . . TIRED.

It was alarming for me. It was like the adrenaline had COMPLETELY worn off, and there I was, feeling exhausted, sore and immobilised. With a groan, I thumped back on the ground.

'Whoa,' I said breathily, 'I . . . I can't - '

'Hmm,' Paul went grimly. 'Had to happen.'

With that, he kneeled down and picked me up. The hairy-legged feminist within protested to the most RUDE assault on my independence, but I was intelligible enough to realise that I was not going to move ANYWHERE without some assistance. Or, uh, a _lot_ of assistance.

My arms went wearily around his neck. 'Sorry - ' I apologised awkwardly, 'This is really embarrassing - '

Paul just chuckled into my hair. 'Suze,' he reasoned, as we started relocating - namely to the front of the school, since our current position was near the foreboding Lake Fortunaschwein - 'You died. You resurrected three ghosts. You caused a very large fire, _very_ fast. I think you have more than a good excuse to be feeling drained.'

I blinked slowly, and just rested my head against his shoulder. My eyes wanted to close, and remain closed until such a time when I was able to wake up and feel my legs again.

However, about five seconds passed before I started giggling.

'I died . . . haha . . . '

Paul didn't exactly laugh. 'You're lucky. Shit, _I'm_ lucky.'

'Yeah,' I said, 'Jesse totally saved your ass.'

'Huh?' Paul stopped. 'He - huh?'

'Jesse . . . ' I stopped, took a deep breath and battled not to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, ' . . . Jesse saved your life. He pushed you out of the way of a falling chandelier - one big enough to kill you several times over.'

Paul blinked several times, trying to absorb the thought in his mind. He looked a little confused, torn between thankful and astonished.

'Oh,' he said slowly. I could have sworn I saw a small trace of a smile. It went away rather quickly, though. ' . . . Anyway, that wasn't what I meant about being lucky.'

Okay, I'm stumped. I always thought Paul was the one walking around with horseshoes up his butt. I mean, just how many things have gone right for Paul. Especially in comparison to me.

'I was talking about you,' he informed me. 'You see, Simon, I was not ready to lose you.'

For a second . . . even I had been so ready to lose me . . .

But I wasn't now. I wasn't ready to go. I wanted to stay, and I wanted to do the hardest thing in this precious life.

Namely . . . live.

I could have stayed in that place, wherever it was. But my father told me that wasn't how it was supposed to be, and now I see why he'd said that. This felt right, just like being in that place. Only now I was sharing it with Paul.

A soft smile came to my face. 'I like it when you call me Simon,' I thought out loud. It was like when Jesse used to call me _querida_. But, you know . . . not. You'd think calling someone by their last name would hardly constitute as endearing, but it somehow grasped me personally.

'Really?' Paul asked. 'Damn it. I'd better think up a name that actually _annoys_ you then.'

I giggled a little. I forgot how interesting our conversations always were.

However, all conversation was halted when a shrill scream rang out through the air.

'SUZE! Oh God, Paul, is she okay?'

Fast footsteps crushed the crackling leaves on the ground. Paul was quick to assure CeeCee McTavish, however, that I was all right. From the look of stark horror on Cee's face as she saw me, I knew I probably looked bad. I feared passing a mirror.

'Holy crap,' Adam's voice sounded astounded. 'You took ages in there! We thought you died or something.'

I'm sorry, but that just had me giggling to no end.

Boy, if only he knew what'd gone on in there. First the fear, and then the mighty triumph.

I opened my eyes finally, and lifted my head up from Paul's neck, where it had been rested so warmly. God, I felt so tired . . .

'What's wrong?' CeeCee asked slowly. 'Why are you so - '

'Stoned,' Adam finished.

Yeah, Adam, I was high. Higher than you could ever know. Only, not on drugs. I tossed Adam a lazy smile.

I heard a slight crackle of leaves off in the distance. The sun was catching on something, making it shine out of the corner of my eye. I twisted my head around a little more, and my eyes widened.

Because there, sitting in a wheelchair in between a rueful looking Mr Richard Head and an alert looking Jesse, was -

'Father Dom,' I gasped.

He was too far away to have heard me. But he'd seen my look. And that made his old face break out into a warm smile. He immediately wheeled right over to me, as fast as his priestly arms could carry him.

'Susannah,' he smiled. He looked pretty good for a guy with a big glob of cells tumor-izing in his head.

'Oh,' Adam grinned, 'Him. Paul and I picked him up from the hospital. It was an emergency, after all. Well, Paul said it was. Otherwise, we busted him out of the White Coats for nothing - '

'I do have a feeling it was an emergency,' Father Dom's eyes twinkled a little.

Paul walked closer to him, with me still holding onto his neck. Father Dom was pretty mobile in his wheelchair, but I guess Paul didn't want to tire the poor dude too much.

Who needs a stinkin' wheelchair when you've got a Paul?

'Hey,' I smiled down at him. I would have liked to give the guy a big squishy hug, but I was kind of using my arms at the moment to hold on to Paul.

CeeCee and Adam fell silent. Observant, if you will.

I looked strangely at Father Dom. I . . . I don't know. There was something about the look in his bright blue eyes that made me suspect that . . . he knew.

I mean, he couldn't have.

Unless, I dunno, JESSE blabbed or something.

But . . . no.

I just got the feeling that he had himself had an inkling of what had gone down in Fortunaschwein's ballroom. It was like . . . he KNEW what had happened. He KNEW that I'd seen things that were meant for me and me alone.

Maybe he and his God buddy WEREN'T that out of touch.

I mean, God's a twisted fellow.

But here was my Father D, right in front of me . . . here when he thought I needed him.

And I guess that's all someone can really ask for from a higher power.

Loved ones, I mean.

Maybe God really didn't have it out for me. He was just looking after me the entire time. Just, you know, in a completely backwards way.

God works in mysterious ways . . . for me it was in more of a paranormal sense.

I smiled a little more broadly, just so he knew that I knew. That he knew, I mean. You know?

Haha.

I reached down and squeezed Father Dom's hand. It was so, so good just to see him here. It almost made me wonder how he got to leave the hospital. I mean, if that hospital was as strict as it was clean and pure white, then he would have never gotten out without a clean bill of health.

His hand was warm in comparison to mine. Warm just like his fatherly smile.

'Yeah,' Paul broke the silence when he deemed it appropriate, 'We went to grab Father Dominic. He thought he could maybe bless the school or something, just in case. Of course though, SOMEONE here decided to be an ass, and they went on in to Fortunaschwein WITHOUT waiting for me to get back.' Paul looked down at me pointedly. 'No names, Suze.'

I sniffed. 'Shut up.'

'Hmm,' Father Dominic said chidingly. Looked like our little "moment" of wordless wisdom had passed, and he was back to being his disapproving self. 'It is true, Susannah, that you should not have gone in by yourself.'

'I went with CeeCee and Mr Head,' I protested. I didn't exactly intend to be on my lonesome. And even if I did, it was only because I thought the Misforts were done.

'Yeah, great help I was,' Cee sighed. She looked down at the ground. Blaming this all on herself. I felt a pang of guilt for dragging CeeCee into this.

'You were VERY great help-y, Cee - '

'Susannah,' Father D interrupted softly, 'You have unfinished business.'

I paused, tiredly but curiously. Paul repositioned his arms a little and jolted me in accident.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

Jesse, who was standing beside the oblivious Mr Head, coughed a little. 'Er,' he muttered, 'Behind you.'

I turned my head over Paul's shoulder at the same time Paul did. My nose brushed against his chin. However . . . behind him, I saw Bartholomew Ford standing there.

He was the perfect demeanour of guilt, in every way possible.

'Uh,' he said.

I felt even more drained, just looking at him. I didn't really want to deal with him now. I just wanted to curl up, and sleep.

But I had to do it now. Like Father Dominic said, I had unfinished business to attend to.

Sighing, I squeezed Paul's upper arms a little, signaling for him to let me stand.

Wasn't particularly UP to it, but since when did the Grand Scheme of Things care about that? My knees were a little wobbly, so I had to hold onto Paul's arm for a little added support.

'Bart,' I said, not really knowing what else to say. I mean, now that the truth about what really happened to the four of them was out, I had no idea whether I could still look at Bart the same. He seemed innocent enough. But I guess when you're affiliated with those other three, you had to have lost your purity somewhere.

Bart's gaze lowered from mine immediately, as if a single word had meant a condemnation.

'I'm sorry,' Bart said in a small voice. 'I'm sorry that I didn't stay, Suze. I should have, I - I just - I was scared and . . . I'm a coward, I know, I should have stayed, especially since I care about you - '

'Bart,' I repeated his name again.

' - Although I have a lousy way of showing it, seeing as I keep dematerialising whenever the going gets tough - like, when you were gonna exorcise the other three - '

'What?' Father Dominic asked a little sharply.

Uh, oops.

' - And then I just disappeared on you. I shouldn't have. I know that I shouldn't leave you, because there's no point in watching over you if I just decide to leave when something dangerous DOES come, I just . . . can't help it, and I know that - '

'Bart,' I said for the final time, 'Shut up.'

He broke his intense staring competition with the grass, and looked up.

I blinked, holding onto Paul's arm heavily. My legs didn't want to hold me. I wanted to fall, and sleep . . .

'Look,' I said, 'It's okay. But . . . it's over now. Charles, Nathan and Robbie weren't monsters when they died. They just turned INTO them. You're not a monster. You're just a wuss.'

Adam sniggered a little. 'Suze Simon, ever tactful,' he grinned, before getting elbowed by CeeCee.

'But,' I went on, 'You can't help that. You killed them because a certain anus in our presence MADE you, but ya know, you still did it.'

'Uh, are you getting to a point?' Bart mumbled, 'This isn't making me feel much better . . . '

'I have no intention of making you feel better,' I informed him. 'However, I am getting to a point. Eventually. You killed three of your fellow students when you were seventeen. You can't change that. But, the most important thing is . . . you regret what you did.'

Bart looked directly at my eyes. He had nice eyes. Emotive eyes. Not piercing like Paul's or dangerous like Robin's. Just . . . nice.

'You're human,' I said from what I gathered from his eyes. 'The other three weren't. You're not like them. You FEEL the remorse. That's the thing that truly sets you apart from Robin, Nate and Charlie.'

He fidgeted with his blazer nervously. I noticed his was a lot more worn out than the others were. His, apparently, was a used one.

And he was a used kid. He was a pawn in Mr. Head's elaborate scheme to keep his small fortune. All Mr. Head had to touch was his cowardice, and he could have gotten whatever he wanted from Bart.

'I don't care about hearing your apology,' I went on, feeling weaker by the second. My voice was kind of dying out. 'I know you're sorry. I know that you would have had good intentions. You just screwed up, because you were a wuss. But like I said . . . it's okay.'

Adam snorted again.

'Tell that to Michael Meducci,' he breathed.

'Adam,' Father Dominic hissed, 'Please be quiet.'

'Sorry Padre.'

'So yeah,' I said. 'It's over now . . . almost.'

'Almost?' Bart questioned.

I rotated my head slightly. God, please let me collapse . . . collapse and sleep . . . ? 'Mr Head,' I addressed. 'If you ever wanted to make an apology, now would be the time to do it. There's an ex-student of yours who's standing here and is dying to hear what you have to say.'

See? I can pun even WHEN I'm dead-beat.

Mr Head looked startled. 'Bartholomew?' he raised his eyebrow, looking at thin air.

Bart bent down and snatched up a tuft of grass in response, to prove his presence.

Mr H. took a deep breath in. 'I'm . . . I'm sorry,' he said.

Bart smiled both wryly and shyly. 'He's not. He's just apologising because you told him to, Suze. He doesn't mean it.'

'I know,' I shrugged. 'But isn't it good to know that someone who bullied you when you were alive is now at your mercy?'

Bart stared at me.

Then he smirked.

'Oh,' was all he said. 'You're good, Suze. You're really good.'

'As I've been told many times,' I sighed, my eyes drooping.

'Susannah,' Father Dominic said smoothly, 'Finish it.'

Reopening my eyes begrudgingly, I fixed my gaze on the ex-principal of Fortunaschwein.

This guy didn't deserve to get away easily. I wasn't through with him. I'd leave that bit to the cops.

A guy can't do something like that and expect to get away with it.

'You're going to jail,' I informed him. 'You've done wrong, and you're going to pay for it. You're going to the police station with CeeCee, and you're turning yourself in. You're going to tell your wife about Mrs La Rosa. God knows what that poor lady's been through ever since she married you. And,' I said, 'you're going to pay the SIA everything you owe us. That "you're fired" thing before was bullshit. Am I right?'

Mr Head's mouth opened several times in outrage. His eyes were bulged, and his crisp grey-white hair looked unruly from his encounter.

'I believe that she asked you a question,' Paul snapped at Mr Head. 'Suze saved your life before, Richard. You owe it to her.'

Forgetting the fact that I LED him into certain death . . .

'Y-yes,' Mr Head babbled. 'Yes, you're . . . you're r-right, Ms Simon. I - I'll . . . do what you s-said.'

I nodded, and looked back at Bart tiredly. 'Is that enough?' I asked him.

He didn't have to reply verbally. Already, his aura was fading. I could see through him. The lurking trees beyond him were stark through his form.

He grinned. 'Thank you, Suze. I'm sorry - '

'Don't expect to go anywhere nice,' I warned him. 'I don't know where you'll end up . . . '

'I know,' he said quickly. The setting sun shone rays right through his spectral form. 'I get it. I get what I deserve, I know - '

'Uh huh,' I said. 'You're a good kid, Bart. It's a pity Dick-Face got a hold of you.'

Best thing? Mr Head was now too scared of me to SCOLD me for teasing his name. Oh, this is the life . . .

Bart Ford grinned at me, sadly. He was barely there. 'I'll miss you, S - '

He was gone.

We all waited in silence, for a moment. CeeCee, Adam, and Mr Head because they didn't know what else to do . . . the rest of us lucky enough to have a certain sixth sense did as a sort of sign of respect.

It's always that way when someone moves on. You can never tell if the are really gone, even if you just watched them disappear. There's a moment or two of hesitation . . . wondering if they're going to come back or not. Are they really at rest?

It was clear that Bart was. There was absolutely no other sign of him left on this plane. Well, except for memory.

If there's one thing I've learned in my existence . . . the past always comes back to haunt you. My job is to fix it, to detach the spirits from the material world. But that doesn't keep them from our thoughts.

I began blinking lazily. My eyelids were drooping majorly, so much that I could hardly keep my eyelids open. Paul scooped me up in his arms again. I rested my limp arms around his neck.

'Someone needs a little sleep,' Paul said as he started walking in the direction of the school.

'I could sleep forever,' I yawned tiredly.

'You could have,' Paul corrected me, 'but you chose not to. You chose to come back and fight.'

I smiled wearily at him and he continued inside the school. He opened up one of the bedrooms on the first floor (stairs were too complicated to bother with) and gently lay me down on the bed.

He was smiling at me, for some reason. It was one of his big toothy smiles . . . the one that not even a million dollars could buy.

'What?' I asked, looking at him sleepily.

'Nothing, I'm just . . . I'm glad you came back,' he said. He brushed a strand of hair from my face aside with his finger and continued, 'I don't know what would have happened if you didn't.'

Neither did I, but it was a thought I didn't want to ponder over too much.

'I'm glad you came back,' he repeated, this time in a whisper. 'For me . . . '

With that, he planted a gentle kiss on my tired lips and left the room. It was kind of warm when he was there . . . it left when he did. I wanted to call back to him to get the warmth back, but I neglected the action when I realized how comfortable the pillow was under my head. I found myself drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

A short little nap . . . I'd have plenty of time to be with Paul later.

- 8 -

What was a short power nap, however, turned out to be a hibernation. I didn't really know how long I was out for, but the light was definitely different than it had been when I first slept. I woke up when I realized that I wasn't alone in the bed.

'And on the third day, she rose from the bed . . . '

I felt someone's warm lips kissing the bit of my shoulder exposed above the covers. I turned around, almost colliding noses with the intruder, who happened to be Paul.

'I just woke up. There's no need for that Biblical stuff,' I said, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

'It took some divine intervention to get you to wake up,' Paul joked. He kissed me gently on the lips, pulling me into him as he did so.

The whole world seemed to pause itself every time Paul and I were together.

Speaking of pause, I realized I had just woken up and that even though I was asleep, the world didn't stop.

I disentangled my lips from Paul's and asked, 'What time is it?'

It was confusing . . . the sun was brighter than it had been when I'd fallen asleep.

Paul sighed, expelling the passion from inside of him. Even though he wasn't kissing me anymore, I could still feel the electricity of his kisses linger on my lips. He just held me. I didn't want to leave this place that I was in at that moment.

'Uh,' he said slowly, 'Well . . . it's about three in the afternoon.'

'But – ' I frowned, 'I went to bed at like, six.'

'That was two days ago, Suze.'

I gagged. 'WHAT?' My eyes flew wide open in horror. 'Two days ago! But – '

'Shhhh,' he trailed a soothing finger down my arm.

I looked at him questioningly. 'What I miss?'

'Well,' he muttered, rolling on his back and lazing tracing patterns on my back, 'You missed Mr Head's arrest, for one. He's confessed everything. CeeCee and I went with him to the local police station. He's just cracked a cold case, so the cops were happy.'

I laughed a little.

'Also, I never really got to tell you about Dani's autopsy report,' Paul went on. 'Well . . . want to guess?'

'ODed on codiene?' I drawled.

'Uh huh.'

'Courtesy of the thirty four pills that Robin jammed down her throat,' I added bitterly. Paul grew suddenly still beside me.

Paul had made a lot of progress when it came to getting past Dani's death, but it still had a bit of a hold on him. I'll even admit the whole thing still terrified me. It was her cold, limp body . . . and her eyes . . .

'Oh well . . . they're gone now,' I said, trying to make better of the situation.

'Mmm,' Paul murmured in agreement. Then, I felt him roll back on his side and wrap his arms around me. 'God,' he said, 'I just keep thinking, what would have happened if you hadn't woken up . . . I would have died, I know that. I was completely out of control. I never knew that my powers went to shit when I was . . . '

'Devastated?' I suggested.

'Suze,' Paul reproached, 'Give it a more masculine word, wouldn't you?'

I smirked. 'Never.'

I pulled away from him, and twisted so I was facing the other way. He still threw an arm over me in case I was thinking of hightailing it or something. That may have been the case five years ago, but now I wouldn't dream of it.

'You looked into Cole,' I said suddenly. 'I mean . . . that day when he came, you said you knew about him and stuff he's done before. Was that true? Was I really not . . . '

'The first girl he was obsessed with?' Paul finished. 'No. There were two before you. He didn't get caught for them. Not enough evidence, and the girls were not willing to testify. The first one was only fifteen, so . . . go figure.'

The thought, though not that surprising, shocked me. ''Whoa, creepy,' I said with a small shiver making its way down my spine.

And to think I actually DATED that creep. But there were others . . . girls probably like me. And like me, they didn't want to tell anyone about him. Maybe they thought they deserved it, too.

Now I know that they didn't. I didn't either.

'You're going to testify against him,' I felt Paul kiss my neck leisurely. 'So you're finally going to put him where he belongs. He's sick, Suze. He needs psychiatric help. He becomes dependant on a woman who he's set his sights on, and from there he's obsessed. And remember . . . those two girls are only ones we know about. We have no way of knowing that there weren't others who pressed charges, but then didn't follow through with them.'

The thought chilled me to the bone. There was no telling what happened to those girls . . . the ones we didn't know about. What was even worse was imagining what he could have done if there hadn't been any intervention. I blinked silently, and wriggled back a little so I was closer to Paul. 'Jeez . . . '

'Well,' Paul said after a moment, 'CeeCee suggested that we go and talk to Mrs Head.'

'Yeah,' I agreed quickly, 'See how she's . . . doing.'

'She's divorcing him,' Paul snorted. 'I think she's doing something she's wanted to do for a while now.'

I smiled a little. 'Yay for Abigail.'

There was something right with the world after all. A woman as sweet as her didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life bound to a bastard like him.

Paul moved around a little so his head was now resting on my chest. I sighed, and ran my fingers through his hair. He made a noise of approval, and I felt his hand against my thigh.

We kind of . . . didn't really move for a while. It really got me thinking about us a little more . . . about what we were or were not. My hopes fell on the "were" part, but I wasn't sure. I wanted it to be set in stone before I carved into it anymore, you know?

He said he loved me. I said I loved him. It seemed like a no-brainer.

'Paul?' I asked softly.

He grunted.

'Can you . . . uh . . . '

He lifted his head, and stared me down. 'Can I what, Suze?'

I blushed. 'Um . . . ask me out.'

One of his eyebrows flew sky high. 'Huh? Ask you . . . why?'

Getting embarrassed, I said at high speeds, 'Well, you know, I just . . . we never really made it official, and I guess I want to because I haven't really - I mean, I've had boyfriends before, but none that I actually - and besides, the only thing we've really got to go on that we're now dating was the fact that this relationship started with - '

'A big bang,' Paul smirked.

My eyes bugged. That's one way to put it, I guess. 'Oh, great. Please welcome to the stage, Paul Slater, tact-man of the century.'

'Right,' he said, grinning wryly, 'Well, Suze. Wanna grab a coffee sometime?'

'You don't grab a coffee AFTER you've slept with the girl,' I scowled. 'And plus, I used to work at Starbucks, a COFFEE shop. Please try to make it a little more persuasive.'

Paul laughed, and dipped his head down so it was against my chin. When he brought it back up, his face was deadpan. Then, it molded into one of the corniest expressions I'd EVER seen.

I realised too late that he was trying, and failing, to do a satire impression of Jesse.

'Susannah,' he said, laying on a very bad Spanish accent thickly, 'My _querida_. Will you court me? Te amo. Adios amigos. You're my . . . uh . . . burrito baby. Wait . . . are burritos Mexican?'

I giggled, and thumped his back. 'You sound Italian.'

'Oh,' he said. 'Right. Well, I don't exactly spend much time practicing to be Jesse de Silva.'

'No Jesse-bashing, please,' I sniffed. 'Come on, try again. I'm sure you'll score some time.'

'I already scored you,' he pointed out.

I thumped him again.

But he was so completely right. I just hate it when he's right. That's just something I'd have to deal with, considering I was in love with him and all.

'Suze,' Paul maintained his look or mockery again, 'I believe you just came out of an abusive relationship. If you're going to be . . . hitting me, I think I'll just have to up and leave you. I've been hurt before, you see - ow.'

What? He DESERVED that one.

'Okay,' he sighed. 'Suze. Care to go out with me?'

I simpered coyly. 'Hmm . . . nah.'

He dropped his honest look, and narrowed his eyes. 'Was that . . . a rejection, Simon?'

I was about to tell him that indeed it was, when he suddenly sat up over me, so he was pretty much sitting on my . . . uh . . . that thing . . . and he jammed both of his hands by my head. My breath snagged in my throat, and my heart jolted. He smirked down at me, seeing that he'd managed to shock me again.

'That was the wrong answer,' he informed, 'so I'll ask again. Will you be my girlfriend, for lack of better words?'

I pondered, and then painstakingly, I replied, 'I'll think about it.'

'Wrong again,' he hissed, and then he moved again so he was still in pretty much the same position, but his knee was now in between my thighs. I gasped.

'No fair,' I protested. 'That's - uhhhh . . . '

My eyes rolled back and I groaned. He pressed his knee . . . up, and certain things within me went completely crazy. This was SO cheating.

'All's fair in love and war,' Paul said proverbially.

I glared up at him, but then he lowered himself over me, and began kissing my neck. I shuddered in pleasure, and said his name as a warning for him to stop. Yeah, a warning which completely lacked conviction.

His knee pressed higher, and I gasped very sharply. I seized his shoulders, and pulled him down so he was against me, kissing him hard. One of his hands slid smoothly behind my back, pushing me into him. The other hand had worked its way up my top with admirable expertise, and was teasing my stomach seductively.

He moved his mouth down so it was now misbehaving against my throat. One of my legs lifted, and I felt the hand that had been behind my back run up my thigh, till it reached my hip. His fingers pressed into the skin there, and I uttered another plea for him to stop.

He knew I didn't mean it.

I laughed, hating how good he was at this and wishing I could make him feel like that. Too bad I wasn't exactly in touch with what he liked.

Oh well. I'd learn sooner or later.

However, once again he pushed his knee against my . . . okay, I REALLY don't like naming that part of me - and I moaned loudly. It was driving me insane. I sucked in air, as his kisses went further down till he was tugging down the neck of my shirt to get to more area for kissing. My hands slid to either side of his face, and I felt hot.

'Figured out the right answer yet?' he asked, his voice muffled in his kisses.

'Uh huh,' I said. 'Yes, yes . . . okay, stop now - hahaha - Paul . . . '

And as instantly as he'd started, he pulled away, smirking.

'No,' I said quickly and grumpily, 'No wait, I didn't mean - I still haven't figured out the right answer, why did you - you can't just STOP like - '

Paul found this completely funny. 'If at first you don't succeed,' he said idly, 'Seduce the girl, and try again.'

I sat up, and felt my forehead. It was completely hot. 'Good one,' I said, 'You gave me a freakin' temperature.'

Paul snickered even more. But did I hear an apology? NO I DID NOT.

'Shut up,' I snapped. 'That was mean. I didn't actually MEAN it when I said stop - '

Paul sat up too, and pulled me back into him. 'Ah, Suze,' he grinned, 'We've got all the time in the world to . . . get hot. Right now, I really think we should let everyone know that ding, dong the witch isn't dead.'

'That was uncalled for, Slater,' I sniffed. 'I am no more a witch than you are a gentleman.'

'Hey,' Paul replied defensively, 'I can be a gentleman if I tried.'

'No you can't,' I said. 'You're a complete - '

But he shut me up effectively by kissing me, so I didn't get the opportunity to plug in a descriptive adjective. About two minutes later when he was finally done, I'd completely forgotten what we'd been arguing about.

Who needs adjectives, when you're being supplied with a great deal of pleasurable verbs.

He pushed back the covers, and coaxed me to get up finally. I relented, and crawled out of bed, still feeling groggy.

'I'm gonna go up to my room to get changed,' I said with a yawn.

'Here, I can materialise us up th - '

'No,' I said, 'I . . . I can do it.'

'No you can't. You don't know how to.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Just because you were UNCONSCIOUS when I displayed my superior materialise-y skills, does NOT mean that I am still unable. I completely saved your life right after Jesse did. You were almost a crispy Slater. I mean . . . I couldn't stop the fire, so I had to get you out of - '

'Okay,' Paul said, grinning. 'Prove it. Materialise us to your room.'

I blinked, and then wrapped my arms around his waist, visualising the room on the fourth floor . . .

I opened my eyes. Wow . . . this was so not the fourth floor. Unless someone redecorated the room to look exactly like the one we were on in the first floor.

It could SO happen. The people on Trading Spaces get two days . . . it wouldn't take that long.

But, alas, it was the same room.

'Fine,' I snapped, 'So I'm obviously a little RUSTY.'

Paul looked around at the room that we were still in with amusement, and smirked down at me. 'This is how the professionals do it, Suze.'

I was able to seriously relate the split second of non-existence to that of when I'd JUST died, and I was just a floating entity that was barely there. When I felt the trickling coldness of the materialisation's light vanish, I looked around and saw my room was just how I'd left it - a mess. I grabbed a skirt and a tank top and some underwear, and then told Paul to turn around.

He grumbled, saying he wasn't reaching his daily perv quota and it was all my fault, and I threw a Jimmy Choo at his head.

That made him hastily look away.

I'd slid off my pants and had zipped up my skirt, but when I pulled my shirt off, I couldn't undo the stupid bra hooks.

However, Paul had OBVIOUSLY thrown me a glance, because he then came to my aid.

I kind of froze when he did. I mean . . . okay, so sue me for STILL getting wiggy when I had half-naked in front of a guy. I shouldn't have, seeing as I'd a) showered with him and b) almost broken a bed because of him, (AHEM) but still.

It was something I'd get used to. I was still adjusting to this all. You know . . . the fact that everything was starting to finally fall in place, like puzzle pieces.

It was a strangely nice feeling, though.

'Let me,' he said in my ear, 'I've been told I'm particularly good at the bra thing.'

'Not exactly words to woo a girl,' I mentioned with a "hmph" of objection. When he pushed the straps of said lingerie off of my shoulders, I felt his arms slide around my stomach, and he kissed my neck from behind me.

'God, let me finish getting dressed, why don't you?' I grinned.

'Turn around,' he said.

'No.'

'Suze.'

_'No.'_

'Why not? I won't bite . . . hard.'

'Okay, eww,' I whined, and I dug my fingernails into the back of his hands so he let go fast.

'Thank God that you let go,' I said to him, 'or the ladies would have had to call you One-Ball Paul.'

I then slid a fresh bra on, and he consented to do it up. That was followed by my top, which had "I SEE DEAD PEOPLE" on the front of it.

What? I saw it in a store and I could NOT resist . . . hehe.

Paul laughed when I finally turned around. 'Well,' he said, 'No one can accuse you of lying about what you are if you wear THAT.'

I smiled serenely. 'Okay, let me try the materialising thing again.'

Paul rolled his eyes. 'It's much faster if I just - '

'Shut up, Sparky. Come here . . . ' I held onto him again, and imagined the kitchen in perfect detail. I thought of the smells, and the sounds, and then with a daunting sensation, we were there.

I shoved him away, and cheered. 'HAHA. I RULE. BOW DOWN TO THE SUZE-MEISTER. IN YOUR FACE, SLATER!'

Paul grinned. 'Okay, okay, I believe you. Very good, Suze. First time for everything.'

'Yeah,' I said, 'I've officially lost my materialisation-virginity.'

He snorted at that –

BANG.

A pan was knocked to the floor. I jumped, startled. 'Ah! Where did you two come from?' someone suddenly asked in panic.

Paul and I turned around. CeeCee and Adam were hastily zipping and buttoning and readjusting items of clothing and were smoothing hair. CeeCee jumped off the kitchen bench, and coughed loudly.

I was appalled. 'Oh God, you're not serious.'

'I see you're, uh, awake,' Cee was very red.

'You just deflowered the kitchen,' I said blankly.

'No we – '

'We did that a _long_ time ago,' Adam said.

Paul wrinkled his nose. 'And you . . . cook on that bench?' he asked delicately.

Wow. We can tell Jack's gone.

CeeCee started going a very pale colour. 'We didn't know you were up,' she squeaked. 'And - and besides, you shouldn't just APPEAR like that! Who KNOWS what we could have - '

'Oh, I assure you, we will NOT be doing that again,' I promised solemnly.

Adam had this huge grin slapped across his face. 'We're married,' he said. 'We have an excuse.'

CeeCee, who'd successfully buttoned her blouse up, suddenly shot Adam a wince. 'Oh my God,' she muttered after a second, before looking at me. 'Did Paul tell you about - '

'Oh yeah,' Paul smirked very suddenly. 'That. No, I didn't. Funny story, though, Suze.'

'It was NOT funny,' CeeCee retorted. 'God, I thought he was going to have a heart attack - '

'Huh?' I was confuzzled. 'What are you talking about?'

'Well,' Paul sounded sly, 'Father Dominic found out that these two got married outside the church, and he . . . uh . . . was not happy.'

'Understatement,' remarked Adam ruefully, losing his smile. 'Took AGES to tell him that we were still having another wedding so we could be holy and stuff. I didn't know priests could TURN those colours.'

I sniggered.

'I do not believe I turned colours.'

I spun around. There, at the door of the kitchen, Father Dominic was standing, looking dull.

'Oh,' I beamed, 'I didn't know you were here – I mean, I thought you were still at the hospital.'

I ran over to him and game him a hug.

'No,' he said, patting my head awkwardly. 'I'm fit to be home, for the moment. I have to check in often, apparently, but . . . I will be okay, Susannah. Gilroy Family Hospital is transferring me and my records to Carmel Valley this afternoon.'

I pulled away, and saw that he was shooting Adam a dirty look.

'Well,' Adam's voice was pained, 'CeeCee and I are just gonna go . . . nap or something, so – '

'No you will not,' Father Dominic said, '_Not_ until you are wed in the eyes of God, Mr McTavish. Miss Webb, you said you were going to go and visit Mrs Head as soon as Susannah woke up, and I believe – '

'Father Dom,' I said, 'She's not Miss Webb anymore. Like it or not, she IS married. Just because it wasn't in a church, doesn't mean it didn't happen.'

'And yeah,' Adam shrugged, 'Who cares about celibacy these days? Just because YOU took a vow of chastity, Father D, doesn't mean we all did. Come on . . . I haven't neutered my libido like you did. Stop giving me death glares already.'

Father Dom grumbled, looking very uncomfortable. 'Spare me,' he muttered under his breath.

I smiled, and moved back to Paul.

'So,' I said, 'When are we leaving Fortunaschwein?'

'Why, today, Susannah,' Father Dominic said matter-of-factly.

Oh. Right.

'So,' CeeCee said, 'We'd all better pack. Adam . . . you can come with me . . . '

They both shot sneaky looks at Father Dominic, before disappearing down the halls. I distinctly heard Cee giggle.

Father D cast a tired gaze on Paul and me, before rolling his eyes. 'What can you do?' he asked. 'Oh well . . . I tried . . . '

With a grin, I replied, 'You never know . . . maybe they'll JUST be packing.'

Paul snorted. 'Whatever, Suze.'

'Have some faith,' I advised him. 'I have faith.'

. . . Again.

Father Dominic sent me a happy looking smile. 'I'll go pack my very limited lot of things . . . ' and he too bustled down the hall.

Paul and I were about to go as well, when suddenly there was a cascade of materialisation right in front of us.

Jesse bore down on me a second later, smiling. His smile lessened slightly when he saw my accompaniment, and he took a step back before locking his eyes back on me.

'You're awake,' he stated softly.

'Uh huh,' I smiled affectionately at him. 'Er . . . very observatory of you.'

He shot another look at Paul, before looking away. Then, once AGAIN he guiltily aimed his gaze at me. His look said a lot. To sum up, he looked happy that I was alive. And, you know, that felt good.

I elbowed Paul.

'What?' Paul hissed at me.

I shot him a meaningful glare, and he was all, ' . . .Oh. Right. Yeah . . . '

Paul coughed, before going, 'de Silva. I . . . uh . . . thanks for kind of . . . knocking me unconscious.'

'Saving his life,' I restated for him.

Jesse looked a little pained. He looked as if the words "You're welcome" were too strong for his liking. 'It's all right,' he said awkwardly. 'I did what you would have done for me.'

Uh . . . huh?

I looked at Paul. To my surprise though, he stared at Jesse, before nodding slowly. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Yeah. If your life WAS in danger, anyway.'

Jesse laughed. 'Yes, that is my advantage and burden,' he bowed his head. 'I could not let a life pass on. Especially not the one who seems to make _mi__querida_ happy.'

I eyed Jesse oddly. Since when did HE think like that?

Jesse's smile seemed gloomy.

Paul got uncomfortable. 'Jesse,' he said, NOT using Jesse's first name in mockery this time.

Jesse shook his head urgently to silence Paul. 'Make her happy,' he said to him. 'That is all I ask . . . '

I gave Paul a look. 'I'll go do my stuff, you go pack yours,' I said. He lowered his head and kissed me lightly before dematerialising obediently.

The ghost before me looked on sadly. 'I don't need to come with you to protect you anymore, _querida_,' he said. 'You have made this school safe.'

'Come with me anyway,' I shrugged. 'I lasted two years with you hanging around . . . I think I can stand another twenty minutes.'

Smiling, Jesse took my hand.

'Thanks. For what you did for him. I would have blamed myself if . . . you know.'

He thumbed the top of my hand gently. I looked back up at him. 'Thank you for loving me like you do,' I whispered to him, my voice barely a breath.

_'Querida_ . . . '

I brought my other hand to his, and held onto in. Then, closing my eyes, I imagined the room on the fourth floor . . . the mess, the smell of dust, the sound of echoing silence . . .

And we were both there.

'Well,' I said happily, 'That's the third time that I've managed to - '

But before I could finish, Jesse pulled me into his arms, and was holding me urgently.

Astonished, I just blinked. Uh . . . okay.

I hugged him back. His embrace was so firm and loving. One of his hands cradled the back of my head.

'I almost lost you,' he breathed, his voice no longer even and collected. It sounded . . . ragged. 'I cannot believe I let that happen to you. After swearing to protect you, I allowed such an atrocity to - '

'Whoa, back up there,' I said. He was still holding me possessively. 'Jesse, you didn't let anything happen. It wasn't your fault. It was . . . I know this is weird, but it was MEANT to happen, okay?'

Jesse's arms loosened, and I stepped back a little. His hands went directly to either side of my face, and his fingers grazed the skin of my cheeks tenderly.

I touched his arm, trying to be soothing. The look in his eyes almost broke my heart. The guilt seemed well on the way to manifesting as something else. I felt the hurt that he did.

'You didn't need to save me,' I said. 'Because this time . . . I was able to save myself. And that's the best thing that you could have hoped for me, Jesse. I think that it's about time that I was capable of looking after myself. I beat death, Jesse. I did that on my own. I NEEDED to do that, in order to keep living now. I'm not as scared as I used to be of life anymore. I can face it now.'

Jesse's hand slid so it was behind my neck. It felt cool against my skin. I smiled up at him. He looked . . . kind of moved by my words.

'It's all well and good to have a knight in shining armour,' I said. 'But sometimes the damsel in distress needs to kick a little ass by herself.'

Jesse's eyes were weighed down even heavier with emotion.

'I love you,' he whispered, leaning down to kiss my forehead. 'I love everything that you are . . . and I'm finally seeing that he does too. He was broken without you, _querida_. I don't know if he could really last long if you were not with him. He's not as strong as you think he is.'

'Paul?' I asked.

Jesse nodded silently.

'God, he'll be so pissed at you if he heard you say that,' I said somberly.

Jesse laughed, and pulled me into him again. He just held onto me like that. It felt really nice. You know . . . that someone really loved me like that.

I hugged him back.

'I love you too,' I spoke softly. 'Not the way you want me to . . . but I do.'

Jesse sighed, and brushed my hair behind my ear ardently, staring into my eyes. He was smiling. 'You're a remarkable woman, Susannah.'

I giggled. 'Uh, thanks.'

I turned my head a little, and saw the mess of my room. 'God, this is a pigsty,' I muttered, breaking away from the moment that Jesse and I had shared.

Jesse too looked around. 'You are not wrong,' he agreed. 'Would you like help? I can easily put it back in your suitcase by - '

I suddenly remembered something. 'Hey,' I grinned, 'I can too.'

'What do you mean?'

'I can do that now as well,' I said cheerfully. 'Watch.'

I moved my hand to the side triumphantly, waiting for uproar of clothes and shoes to levitate in the air, all ready to be thrown into the open suitcase . . .

But, uh, all that lifted up was a couple of bras, one of my flip flops, and a denim jeanskirt.

Dropping them immediately, I blushed. 'Okay, I obviously need a little work on THAT too . . . '

He laughed at me, and repeated my hand action. ALL of my stuff flew into the air, before Jesse carefully redirected it to my suitcase. He even zipped the suitcase in question shut.

'Show off,' I sniffed. 'Oh well. I'll be a telekinesis champ one day as well, so ner.'

'Took me a hundred and fifty years to master it,' Jesse mentioned. 'I sincerely hope it does not take you as long.'

'It won't,' I declared. 'You obviously lacked my talent.'

I then added, 'Vaquero.'

He chuckled. 'If you insist . . . '

I turned to the suitcase, made one last attempt to lift it, failed, and twisted back to Jesse. 'I'll control my powers sooner or later. But till then, could you . . . ?'

'But of course,' he said genially, and lifted it up with ease.

'I'm gonna see how Paul's going,' I informed him. 'I'll see you a little later . . . '

_'Si_. A little later, then.'

I materialised to the first floor, happy that it had been the FOURTH successful materialisation, and then journeyed right of the entrance to the hallway where Paul's room was.

I found that his door was closed.

'Knock knock,' I said, as I entered.

When I walked in, I was kind of alarmed to see that the room was still pretty much untouched as far as the packing-up department went.

Paul was sitting on the bed, holding his head.

'Paul,' I gushed, quickly sitting beside him. 'What's wrong?'

He sighed. 'I don't know . . . I haven't been in here since before she . . . I mean, I still had one of my suitcases in my car and I was pretty much living out of - I guess I didn't want to come back in here and see all her things. God, how much of a pussy did I sound then exactly?' he growled, angry at himself. 'Sorry, Suze, I . . . I don't know what's up with me.'

'It's okay,' I said softly. I looked around at all of Dani's stuff. It was neat as a pin. The wardrobe was open and I could see things in plastic covers, hanging lifelessly. Her shoes were everywhere.

'No, it's not okay,' he snapped. He stood up, and turned away from me. He flung a hand angrily, and instead of Dani's things going tidily into the opened suitcase, they just crashed against the opposite wall, making a huge ruckus.

'Paul,' I said gently, touching his shoulder. 'It really is okay . . . '

Paul stared up at the roof accusingly. 'I guess I'm not over what they did to her,' he muttered, as if to himself. He lowered his gaze so it was finally on me. He looked scared to be looking at me.

Wow . . . even Paul Slater had vulnerability . . .

That was both comforting and discombobulating at the same time.

'Hey,' my tone was gentle and consoling as I hugged him. He held me back, resting his chin on the top of my head.

Yes, I am just that short. Shut up.

'She didn't deserve it,' he snarled. 'She didn't deserve what they - '

'I know,' I said, rubbing his back. 'I know. Of course she didn't. Anyone who thinks ANYONE deserved that is fucked up.'

Paul sat back down on the bed, and pulled me on after him. His arms wrapped around my torso, and he didn't let go. He just stared into space.

'Thank God for you,' his voice was an undertone. His cheek was against my hair.

It was really cold . . .

'I saw her,' I said flatly.

Paul stiffened. 'What?'

Swallowing awkwardly, I repeated, 'I . . . uh . . . saw her.'

'You couldn't have,' Paul said. 'She's gone.'

'Well, I did.' I shuffled a little so I was facing him. He regarded me probingly. 'I didn't break through the mega-strong astral block,' I admitted. ' . . . _She_ did.'

'What do you mean?' he was confused.

I shrugged. 'I don't know . . . all I know is, I saw her. And where she is now . . . she's okay.'

'You . . . believe that?' Paul asked a little skeptically.

'I _know_ that,' I replied. 'I was there. Just for a second . . . but I knew that she was okay there. I don't know if that's comforting. You don't even have to believe me. But I know that.'

Paul was quiet for a second. Then he held me that little bit tighter. 'I believe you.'

'Good,' I mumbled.

'I've got to clean this stuff up . . . ' Paul muttered, sounding preoccupied again. He went to flick his wrist again, but I grabbed his hand. 'We'll both do it. You're a little messed up at the moment. You're not focusing properly.'

'I thought I was supposedly teaching you,' he laughed tiredly.

'Too bad.'

I held onto his hand, and together, with his control and my power, all the stuff landed neatly in the suitcases. I zipped them up by hand as Paul sat on the bed, staring at me.

'What?' I prompted, after a second.

'Nothing,' he said, with a little smile. 'I'm just lucky, I guess.'

'Er,' I murmured, 'Righteo then. Can you grab that one? I'd carry them both, but that one's kind of heavy - '

He stood up and picked up one in each hand, and walked out the room.

'Show off!' I shouted at his butt.

God, what IS it with guys and their astral powers/annoying strength? They just HAVE to outdo me, DON'T they?

Standing as well, I took one last look at Dani's and Paul's now empty room, and then ran to catch up with Paul.

- 8 -

'Well,' Adam yawned, 'Say goodbye to Fortunaschwein, ex-Boarding School for Boys, Suze.'

I looked over at the destroyed graveyard in the distance. I looked the school up and down. I looked at everything that had once scared me about this school.

That's all it was. A school. It had nothing to do with what had happened inside, or indeed, who'd dwelt in there.

I wasn't scared of it anymore. It didn't give me the chills. It was just a building . . .

Not a place of death.

'Goodbye,' I obliged.

I let go of the dark bricks and the dead trees and the brown grass and the dusty windows and the consuming fog. I let it fall into the past. Then I turned around, walked with Paul to his car, and the remainder of the SIA drove away from Fortunaschwein forever.

Well . . . we still had to make a stop somewhere before we COMPLETELY departed Gilroy . . . but don't rush me.

After a couple minutes of driving, Paul pulled into the driveway of the Headquarters. He was more composed now.

'Oh,' he said conversationally, 'We forgot to say . . . Reunion's been rescheduled to the day after tomorrow. Father Dom organised it with Sister Ernie when you were asleep.'

'Shit,' I muttered. 'I have to write a speech still . . .'

Paul grinned. 'Ha. Mission's _still_ giving you homework?'

I scowled. 'SO not funny.'

We both exited the car. Cee's car had pulled up behind us. Father Dom had gone ahead on the long drive back to Carmel. He had business at the Mission and needed to get back as soon as possible, apparently. And plus, he was excited that they were having a GET WELL SOON, FATHER DOMINIC celebratory mass in honour of him.

Hey. He's like, sixty something. He has to get his kicks SOMEHOW.

The four of us went through the ritzy gate, and right up to the door.

Paul knocked loudly.

There was a flurry of footsteps from beyond the door, and then it opened suddenly. A rosy-faced Mrs Head looked out at us with wide eyes, but upon recognizing us, smiled warmly.

'Ah,' she said, 'It's you. Come in, dears, come in . . .'

We all traipsed in. Adam looked a little awkward - he hadn't been here before, but CeeCee was holding his hand.

'Come sit,' Mrs Head was being the perfect hostess, 'I'll get you tea - '

'No,' I said to her. 'Mrs Head, YOU sit. I'LL get the tea.'

She looked startled. 'But - '

'One sugar?' I asked her.

'Uh . . . ' she blinked, obviously not used to not being bossed around, 'All right.'

I went to the kitchen, and saw pretty much everything straight away. The teabags were in a box by the silver hi-tech fridge, and there was a tall jar of rich, dark coffee beside it. The sugar was in cubes in a sealed off bowl. I grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, and heated up the kettle.

After finding cups, I did my expertly pouring thang that I unfortunately learned at Starbucks, and brought out coffees for CeeCee and Paul, and tea for Mrs Head and Adam.

I just had water.

They were still in the gold and brown living room, chatting. Mrs Head looked a little disconcerted, but was pretty cheerful anyway. She accepted her mug graciously, and sipped with etiquette and dignity.

I sat next to Paul.

'How are you doing?' I asked her, concerned.

She gave me a benevolent smile, and shrugged a little. 'Shocked still,' she said quietly. 'But . . . strangely enough . . . dreadfully relieved. I always knew,' her volume dropped even further. 'I always suspected that there were other things happening at that school for Richard besides just teaching . . .'

'I'm sorry,' CeeCee said.

'Don't be,' Abigail blinked. 'Richard did those horrid things. It's only right that he . . . pays for what he did.'

'No, I meant, I'm sorry for you,' CeeCee explained.

'Heavens, why?'

'Well . . . this must have shaken you up,' Paul said, after draining his coffee.

Abigail smiled shyly. 'A little . . . but I will be fine. Do not worry about me, dear. Besides, as awful as it is for me to even be _thinking_ about such a thing already . . . I would dearly love to move back to England.'

'You're English?' I said in surprise. 'I would have never guessed. Your accent's gone.'

'Yes. Richard met me when I was a dear young thing, and we moved out here. He never wanted to go back . . . but now, I . . . I can go if I please. I'm ever so homesick. My father's still alive, and my brothers, so it would be wonderful to see them again. Goodness knows I can afford it now,' she said quietly, as if she dared not utter the words.

'Good for you,' Paul grinned.

'Pray tell,' Mrs Head squinted, 'Who's this handsome one, CeeCee?'

Cee's face lit up. 'Oh, it's is Adam,' she said. 'My husband.'

Adam choked on his tea in a rush to put down the mug and shake Mrs Head's hand.

'I guessed,' Abigail said warmly. Her voice was really like a nice cup of hot chocolate. It was like a heater on a freezing day. She extended a frail hand to Adam, who took it happily.

After sitting back down, she sighed a little. 'I'm so terribly sorry for what Richard said to you about your friend last time,' she said to me. 'Temper like a madman, he has sometimes . . . '

'Mmm,' I murmured, and then yawned. Whoa, okay, I was tired again. wearily, I frowned.

'You okay?' Paul asked in my ear.

I nodded. 'Yeah . . . just got sleepy again, sorry . . . maybe I should have made myself a coffee after all.'

Paul moved his arm so it was around my shoulders, and he pulled me into him.

Mrs Head was still talking to Adam and CeeCee about their marriage, when she stopped.

'My memory's dreadful,' she said quickly, 'I simply can't remember, did you two say you were together when you first visited? I asked you if you were married, I think, and . . . I can't remember.'

I grinned toothily. Oh, it's all DIFFERENT now, Mrs Head.

We've _boinked_ now.

'You're remembering fine,' I guaranteed her. 'We're - '

'Yeah, we're together now,' Paul said.

She looked REALLY chuffed when he said that. 'Well, that's lovely,' she tittered. 'You look wonderful together. So do you,' she added at CeeCee and Adam genuinely. 'It's splendid that you're in love. You're all very lucky.'

'Yeah,' Adam kissed CeeCee's face quickly. 'We are.'

Abigail looked a little woeful for a minute. 'I wish I'd been as lucky,' she sighed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Mrs Head bustled up to get it, but once again, I told her to sit down. She did, thanking me and telling me I was "too kind to an old fuzzy like her."

When I got to the door, I was stunned to see Father Dominic standing there, looking a little edgy.

'Whoa,' I said, 'Random priest. What are you doing here?'

Apparently though, he was equally as shocked to see me. 'What are YOU doing here, Susannah? I saw your cars, and . . . am I at the right address?'

Okay, this was weird.

'Who are you looking for?' I asked.

'Abigail,' he responded.

'Abigail Head?' I checked.

His mouth fell open. 'She's . . . she's Mr Head's wife? Oh, good Lord . . . you are serious?'

I raised my eyebrows. 'What are you TALKING about, Father D? Of course she is. Why are YOU here?'

Then, I suddenly saw the tips of his ears go completely pink.

'Erm . . . ' he trailed off, 'Abigail did charity working at the hospital, and I was . . . stopping by to thank her for always bringing in flowers for me - '

I suddenly smirked evilly.

Ooooooooooh . . .

'What?' Father Dominic demanded. 'Is she here?'

With a cocky look, I let him in. 'Right in here.'

He, I noticed to my amusement, had flowers in HIS hand.

Oh. So THAT'S why he said he needed to leave earlier. Why, that SNEAKY little priest . . .

We walked into the lounge room together. Abigail's face looked elated. 'Dominic!' she sang. 'Oh, how wonderful it is to see you! This is Susannah and Paul, and that's CeeCee and Adam - '

'Uh,' I muttered, 'We all know each other. We're good.'

'But how?' she was confused.

'I'm a part of the SIA,' Father Dominic explained, 'I did not realise you were Mrs Head. I am completely sorry . . .'

'I thought you had to be back at the Mission - ' Adam began, but CeeCee, ever quick, elbowed him.

Yeah. Everyone was TOTALLY noticing the looks the two oldies were giving each other.

'I hoped I'd see you before you left,' Abigail cooed gleefully.

'These, er, are for you,' Father Dominic looked TOTALLY embarrassed as he handed her the flowers. They were daisies. He kept shooting me rueful looks.

'Don't worry,' I smiled, 'I won't tell Monsignor.'

_'Susannah_,' he scowled, 'I don't know _what_ you're talking about - '

I gave him a sassy grin, and chuckled.

'I love daisies,' Mrs Head breathed their scent in deeply.

'I remember. You told me when you brought me the - ' he broke off, once again remembering we were here, and were ALL smirking widely at him.

'You know what?' I said, grabbing Paul's hand and yanking him up, 'We're all gone. You two can chat.'

'I've transferred your pay into the bank account you all gave me,' she said suddenly. 'Oh, and I . . . gave you all a little extra than I realised, but you all deserve it, so it's fine. And - ' she got up and hurried into the kitchen, before returning with an envelope, 'This if for . . . Jack, I believe? I assumed that cash would be best for him.'

She handed it to Paul.

He grinned. 'I hope you're going to be okay,' he said.

'If you ever want to talk, just call,' I said. 'You have my cell number, right? On our employee sheet thingo?'

'Yes,' she nodded. Whoa, even SHE looked a little eager to get some alone-time with Father Dom.

I hissed in Father D's ear, 'Don't do anything Adam McTavish on Viagra wouldn't do.'

Before he could even BEGIN to look scandalised, the four of us all hightailed it out of the house.

When we were outside, we all completely cracked up.

'Did you SEE those two?' Adam exploded. 'I can't believe that Father Dom was BLUSHING. He told US off . . . WHAT a hypocrite.'

CeeCee was giggling. 'They were so cute.'

'Yeah,' I grinned. 'Father D needs someone like Mrs Head. I mean . . . so what if he's a priest and all? They'll work it out.'

'We thought that crazy little guy'd never find a hottie mama,' Adam gasped. 'BEG TO DIFFER.'

Paul chuckled. 'She's really genuine,' he said. 'I like her.'

'I maintain she needs to say "fuck",' I stated.

We all got back into our respective cars, and managed to squeeze out from where Father Dom had parked his banged up wheels in the wide driveway. When we were all on the road again, I waved to CeeCee and Adam as Paul sped past them. CeeCee was too prudish to race Paul as he revved his Jaguar, but I could see Adam was trying to egg her on and was getting yelled at.

I laughed as they ate our dust, and we'd streaked right ahead of them.

'Okay, Speed Racer, slow down now,' I said.

He did so, so he was within the limit again.

'So long, Gilroy,' Paul wound down his window, and let the wind pound on his face. His curls were whipped by the wind, and he closed his eyes for a second and breathed in the air longingly. 'Gotta say . . . the air here sure smells great,' he said. 'Fresh, you know?'

'Yeah,' I agreed, 'A little garlicky, but it's all good.'

I wound down my window too, seeing as my hair was in plaits and therefore wouldn't suffer too horribly from the breeze.

Goodbye, Gilroy . . .

- 8 -

**STILL NOT THE END . . . there's a little more to go . . .**

**Love Lolly and Hayley.**


	33. That Thing Called 'Family'

Yes, we KNOW this took a long time! We are sorry, we are being whipped and chained as we speak. Hehe . . . kinky.

Okay, ONE more chapter after this one, I think.

Paulie lovers, get your drool cups: fluff ahead.

- 8 -

The plan was to go straight from Gilroy to Carmel, rent a hotel or something, and do a bit of relaxing until the reunion. But when you're a foursome of young adults, plans tend to change at the last minute.

Especially when one of the four happens to be Adam McTavish, party animal extreme.

Paul and I were driving down the long highway quite peacefully. Occasionally, we'd comment on the avocado farms or the orchards we happen to pass by. California is just so green, in comparison to the glum, gray streets of Massachusetts.

Paul drove one-handed. His other hand rested itself lightly on my knee. I slipped my fingers into his. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror and noticed that I was grinning like an idiot.

That may be, but I was a HAPPY little idiot. So hah.

Then my cell phone, which was rested in my lap, began to vibrate, which caused me to jump and hit my head on the roof of the car. I picked up the phone and saw that the caller ID said Adam on it.

I pressed talk and said, 'God, Adam, thanks a lot.'

'For what?' Adam wanted to know.

'My phone was in my lap when you called, and when it vibrated, it – '

'Oh,' Adam teased, 'my pleasure. Or should I say _your_ pleasure?'

'Shut up. I was going to say it scared me.'

Adam snorted on the other line. 'Riiiiight . . . '

I sighed into the phone. I don't know how I was able to get by five years without Adam's humor. Or indeed, how I was able to get by a month WITH it.

'So . . . what's going on?' I asked.

'I'm glad you asked, Miss Simon. You're a working woman, right? Well, what normally happens after a long day's work?'

'Uh . . . sleep?' I asked, dumbly. That's what I would do because I was usually so physically and emotionally tired by the end of the day.

'Happy Hour!' Adam answered for me. 'We just got paid, Suze! Where's your sense of spirit?'

I do have one . . . but it involves actually _sensing _ spirits.

Well, we did deserve it. I mean, we survived. We managed to get the job done, even if it was in a weird supernatural way that no one could have ever thought of. It was kind of like a milestone for the SIA. Our first case, our first victory out of the many more to come.

There was also another milestone to celebrate though . . . Adam and CeeCee's marriage. That's pretty big, you know, even if the Catholic Church doesn't recognize it.

'Just ask Paul if he wants to. If you don't want to go . . . well, he's strong enough to drag you in.'

I rolled my eyes and put my hand over the receiver, turned to Paul, and asked, 'Are you up for a few drinks? Adam suggests we do a little Happy Hour.'

All I could see of Paul was his profile because his eyes were on the road. He didn't answer for a moment. But then I noticed a bit of a smirk play on his lips. 'Where do we meet them?'

'He's in,' I said. I added, correcting myself, '_We're _in.'

Oh, how I love that pronoun.

- 8 -

Five years ago, this whole scene would have not only been unimaginable, but completely strange in my mind. I mean, I guess being in a bar with Adam and CeeCee wouldn't have been too far off if I had kept contact with them throughout the years. I didn't until now, though.

It was mostly being in a bar with Adam, CeeCee, AND Paul. And I wasn't just with Paul . . . I was WITH him, sitting on the barstool next to him with his arm draped around my shoulders. And as odd as it would seem to myself in the past, it just seemed like something natural now.

It was as if the past five years had just been a strange dream, and now I was awake and things were finally starting to go back to normal, even though it was never really normal in the first place.

So yeah, that was the current Kodak moment. Paul, Cee, Adam and I were in the corner booth of some bar which was half way between Carmel and Gilroy. By the time we had gotten there, it had been about seven thirty. Paul had ordered a round of drinks for all of us - light beer for me, thank you - and within about fifteen minutes, we were talking pretty openly (and somewhat loudly) about Fortunaschwein.

'There was never a dull moment,' CeeCee reminisced, with a giddy giggle.

'I'll say, That was some really trippy stuff. Especially with the paranormal stuff . . . I felt like I was on drugs or something,' Adam said, after polishing off his second beer.

I laughed. My life was pretty unreal at times, even to me. All Adam saw was floating objects and a few people talking to absolutely nothing. Hmm . . . it must be funny being normal and seeing things like that. It must have been incredible.

And we just sat there, chatting. The whole time. Adam and CeeCee were filled in finally on pretty much everything Paul and I had kept from them about the Misforts. They didn't take it as badly as they would have if they HAD been sober, so this really was the best time.

By about nine, Adam ordered fish and chips for all of us.

By eleven, I was on my fourth light beer. Adam was getting smashed, and kept very obviously touching CeeCee's butt, though he thought he was being discreet. It was more like groping than touching, actually.

'You're drunk,' she hissed at him. Adam denied it most indignantly as he slurped down another beer.

Paul had always been able to hold his liquor. He was starting to show a couple signs of cracking, though. But not too many. Just the occasional slurred word. At least his sentences were coherent.

'So, Suze,' CeeCee said, eyeing me curiously, 'What are you going to say in your speech for the reunion?'

I gulped, and took another swig of beer. 'Don't remind me,' I muttered.

'You haven't written it yet?' CeeCee sounded shocked.

To tell you the truth, I really hadn't even thought of it at all while I was in California. As you can see, I've had a few other things to concentrate on like, oh I don't know, trying to thwart three deadly ghosts.

'I'll improvise on the day,' I shrugged.

'You really should at least plan – '

'Shut up, Mrs McTavish,' Adam laughed, and leant over to kiss her neck a little. CeeCee giggled, and shoved him away, trying to focus back on the conversation.

I rested my chin on my hands, smiling happily, loving the alcohol's caress. I wasn't completely wasted or anything . . . just a little punch drunk. You know . . . happy-go-lucky and tipsy. I threw a merry glance over at Paul, and smiled some more.

Maybe it was just the beer, but he looked even hotter than before, with the light throwing half of his face into shadow. It may sound kind of weird, but I couldn't stop staring at his hand either . . . the one that wasn't draped across my shoulder. It was lightly touching the neck of the glass he was drinking from. That strong looking hand, the one that held so much power. That same manly hand that could pack a mean punch was the one that made me shiver every time I felt it touch me.

Okay, I was definitely a little buzzed.

'You know what?' Adam said suddenly, 'I reckon we should make a toast.'

'Hmm,' Paul agreed, after a moment. 'Good idea, McTavish.' He picked up his glass, and CeeCee and Adam followed suit. I settled back in my chair and did the same, grabbing my bottle.

'Anyone want to go first?' Adam asked.

CeeCee coughed in her throat, and tossed her hair.

'Well,' she began sophisticatedly. 'More often than not, our lives were on the line throughout that job. One of them was lost. But . . . we did survive. And I think that we now appreciate life even more, and that we're not going to put stuff off anymore. Like, getting married to the person we love even if the local priest opens the Gateway of Hell because of it . . . Hmm. To survival.'

'To survival,' we echoed, and all chinked.

Next, was my turn. I grinned, and raised my beer a little higher.

'Uh,' I said, 'I guess CeeCee said most of what I was going to say. But . . . yeah. Life is something that I didn't really value all that much, because it used to suck. I guess I wasn't looking at the big picture though. You know . . . I was so caught up in the bad things that I drowned out the good. I guess it always goes back to that stupid "Big Yellow Taxi" song . . . you know. 'Don't it always seem to go – '

"That you don't know what you've got till it's gone",' Adam sang loudly, throwing his head back.

I smiled. 'Yeah, that. Well . . . I lost life. But I've got it back now. I'm not going to take it for granted. There's so much out there for me, not just what I thought I deserved. So we're all going to be brave, and we're going to live. To life,' I concluded.

'To life,' the others droned, and again, we chinked glasses.

I think I've got the whole impromptu speech thing down.

Next, it was Paul's turn. He was sitting next to me. His brow creased in thought, and he stared at his drink intently. Then, he lifted his gaze, and said clearly, 'To Suze.'

I blinked. 'Uh, a little _biased_ aren't we?'

'Yeah,' Adam agreed, grinning like an idiot, 'Not all of us have slept with her yet, Slater. Emphasis on _yet_.'

CeeCee rolled her eyes, and Adam, elegantly wasted, just grinned with cheer.

'No,' Paul said, looking at them with intensity. 'I mean it. Suze has got to be one of the most powerful shifters in existence. You . . . you don't know what she did. You weren't there,' he said in a quiet voice to Adam and CeeCee, who were both now serious-faced from the tone of Paul's voice.

My eyes widened a little.

One of the most powerful shifters . . . in _existence_?

I need a badge with THAT on it, huh?

'What she did was phenomenal. She's the best damn mediator a ghost could ever get, and she's got the biggest heart. Once again with the not knowing what I got till it's gone. So here's to Suze, for coming back to us,' he lifted his glass high.

'To Suze,' CeeCee and Adam repeated, their eyes on mine.

I was blushing rather hard.

But . . . I was really touched, too.

I turned my head and looked at Paul. He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression. Once again, it was like he was searching deep down in my soul, just by the connection his gaze had with mine.

Then, he leaned over a little, and kissed my lips softly.

After pulling back, we heard Adam go, 'To alcohol. The cause of – and solution to – all life's problems.'

We all chinked glasses again. CeeCee, once again, rolled her eyes affectionately at Adam. After taking a sip of her drink, she kissed him on the cheek and leaned against his shoulder.

She was in _so_ deep. I could see her eyes were positively shining.

And better yet . . . we'd done it.

The SIA had succeeded.

Adam chose that moment to burp very loudly. Adam was a funny drunk, though not very dignified.

So there we were, drinking the fruits of our labour. So what if Happy Hour turned out to be SEVERAL Happy Hours . . . I mean, we were enjoying ourselves.

However, after a couple more drinks on my part, I started LEVITATING the bottles on the table and making them zoom about three feet high, giggling drunkenly.

'Haha . . . it's flying . . . _weeeeeeeeeeee_!'

Paul WISELY decided that it was time we all left. Everyone else in the bar that saw me levitating stuff was too drunk to realize it, but the bar-tender was giving me strange looks.

'Okay, someone's had too much,' he muttered in my ear. 'Time to go, Suze.'

Giggling giddily, I stood up and brushed my hair off my face. CeeCee hugged me and said in my ear, 'Prepare your speech, Simon. If you need help, just – '

'I'm FINE,' I hissed back at her, and she let go.

'God,' Paul grinned, 'Who's the designated driver out of you two? You're both hammered.'

CeeCee raised a hand. 'I didn't have that much,' was her defense.

Snorting in obvious skepticism, Paul replied, 'You want a lift to Carmel?'

'No.'

'Okay,' he said, and his hand slid around my waist. Mysteriously, within a few seconds, I was slumped in Paul's passenger seat, and I could hear the purr of his Jaguar.

I must have been asleep . . .

Turning a little, I blinked once and was out again.

- 8 -

The absence of the car's smooth engine woke me up. I mean, by then, I'd gotten used to the constant noise, and when it stopped, that was only when I noticed how easily I'd just accepted it.

Kind of like life, you could say.

'Suze,' I heard my name, crisp in my ear. 'Suze . . . do you want me to take you to your house?'

'Mmm . . . ' I blinked very sleepily, and rubbed my eyes. I further unleashed an almighty yawn, and straightened up a little. ' . . . Huh? I - I mean . . . what time is it?'

'One o'clock.' Paul's voice was soft, and kind of rusty. He must have been tired too.

'Whoa,' I muttered, focusing my gaze on his face. It was completely riveted on me, awaiting my answer. Moonlight was a really good look for him. 'That late, huh? Well . . . I don't want to really wake the mother up just because I came home . . . and plus, she'll keep me up and demand to know where I've been and if I had a good time, and I just really want to go to bed - '

'So, crashing at my place?' Paul's mouth turned to a sly grin.

'If you don't mind.'

He scoffed. 'You _think_ I mind?'

Smiling wearily, I clicked my seatbelt off, and looked beyond the foggy car windows. Paul's beachside residence on Scenic Drive lurked in the night's coldness. I turned back Paul, blinking indignantly. 'Oh, so you just knew I'd say yes to staying here, did you?'

He laughed evilly. 'If you didn't . . . I would have found it necessary to convince you.'

'Man-slut,' I scowled.

Chuckling, he opened his car door and I felt a blast of bitter cold air on my body. I was extremely reluctant to open MY door, but Paul had done it for me.

He offered his hand, and pulled me out gently.

'It's freezing,' I shivered.

'It's warmer inside,' he assured me. 'We've got heaters and stuff. I'll leave our bags in the car until the morning - we can deal with them then, okay? Come on.'

He grabbed the edge of his jacket, and wrapped it around me, pulling me right by his side. Well, I wasn't really complaining - my shoulders and upper back were a hell of a lot warmer. When we got to his door, he fiddled with a key that he'd dug out of his pocket.

'Shit,' he cursed, his voice low and annoyed. 'Lock's changed since the last time I was here . . . oh well, it doesn't matter.'

He proceeded to wrap his OTHER arm around me tightly, before we materialised.

Well . . . that sure was a convenient way to break into a house.

I laughed a little. 'Cute,' I smiled. He smirked down at me, and ran his hand through my hair, which I had down. It was screaming to be drowned in oodles and _oodles_ Herbal Essence. 'Hmm,' I pulled away, and looked around at the dark house around me. 'Haven't been here since - '

'Those notorious shifting lessons of ours,' he finished for me. 'Funnily enough, I can _almost_ say the same thing.'

A killer yawn spilled out of me again, and Paul looked at me sympathetically. 'God, you really are tired. Right, we're getting you to bed, Simon.'

'We're?' I questioned his usage, 'What, you and your other personalities? I completely knew you were bipolar . . . Sméagol,' I added.

'Oh, that's great,' Paul rolled his eyes, his hands falling to my hips again, drawing me close, 'You come back of the dead just full of insults, don't you? So what am I? A schizophrenic wannabe-gentleman now?'

'Haha. Very funny. I want to go to bed now,' I told him.

He leant down and kissed me lightly. 'Only if I can come,' he whispered against my lips.

'If that's what it takes to get some shut eye,' I smiled, my hand grazing his face affectionately, 'I'll make that sacrifice.'

Paul's hand came to my wrist, and his fingers closed around it one by one. He brought my fingertips to his lips, and kissed them delicately. Then, with his eyes as dark and unreadable as they were icy blue, he brushed a bit of hair off of my face.

Finally though, we started heading upstairs.

The house was completely silent, except for some TV-like noises that were coming from the other end of the house - I assumed they were from Dr. Slaski's television. He'd probably nodded off in front of _Family Feud_ and was drooling over his shirt. Moonlight was shining through the glass, translucent windows, and the stairway was completely cold.

'Your heating system here sucks,' I commented. 'It's freakin' cold, Paul.'

'Hey, be nice,' he smirked. 'People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Suze. The walls might shatter.'

However, when we were on the landing and were making our way down the hall, Paul suddenly stopped, and twisted his head to grin down at me.

I knew why, too.

We were in front of his old bedroom. The door was barely ajar.

His laugh was completely sexy, too. He knew why I was suddenly embarrassed and flushed. I mean, our first kiss hadn't exactly been innocent.

'What do you say?' he breathed in a voice that was low, enticing and amused at my abrupt flashback. He trailed his fingers down my arms, and I shuddered in both delight and anticipation. 'For old time's sake, Suze?'

Before I could even answer, he'd pushed the door open, and had tugged me inside.

The door clicked shut, and Paul's smile was wry. He tossed his head a little, striking a freaky resemblance with Nathaniel Blake. Then, he just stood there, staring down at me.

'Want to, uh, turn on a light?' I suggested lamely. The natural luminance that night provided was hitting his face, making his features look prominent and strong. The both of us were lost in blue glow, and shadow. It was almost enthralling as it was dark. My heart was thudding in my chest. Before in his car, I'd been fast asleep.

Now I was wide awake – _alert_ – trying to guess what he'd do next.

'Why would I do that?' he asked. 'All the most exciting times with you are when the lights are off.'

I breathed in, thrilled by his words. I mean, there was the OBVIOUS event that he was referring to . . . but I thought back to the others. Like, the time when we'd been in his car, and we'd revealed to each other how we actually felt . . . or that time when I'd almost just drowned, and we were back in Fortunaschwein's entrance hall, and he'd told me that my eyes were beautiful . . .

I remembered how scared I'd been then of him.

Because really, that's when it had started to get dangerous. That's when I'd truly began to fall for him.

Only post-analysis of the situation could have made me realise that, and pinpoint a moment where I'd started to really drown in it.

I mean . . . the thing that happened that night when we'd . . . got mad at each other, that had had EVENTS leading up to that. We hadn't just randomly decided to - you know, do the sexy thing, there and then. There'd been tension building up before it had happened. I guess it had spilled over, and had resulted in a full-on revelation on both parts. You know, what we hated about each other . . . what we loved . . .

And it had all been in the dark.

Well, now, nothing was in the dark anymore. It was bathed in warm, rich light.

So even though he didn't want the bedroom light on, I still knew that there was light there. There weren't secrets anymore. We weren't hiding things from each other.

This was us. Here and now.

It was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

The next thing I knew, Paul's moonlit features loomed closer and closer. The first time we were in this room together, his kiss was a sudden interruption, fueled by a mixture of young lust and unplaced hormonal urges. Now though, we were in slow motion, moving slowly because we had all the time in the world together.

Before our lips made contact, he leaned his forehead against mine. My eyes closed, breathing him in . . . his smell and his presence. Suddenly, we were kissing and later, somehow, we were sitting on the edge of his bed just as we had been when we were young.

This time when he eased me into a more horizontal position on top of me, I had no objections whatsoever.

As his form pressed mine down, I relished the electricity that was wreaking lovely havoc over my body. His kiss was continued, and my fingers were already gripping his back even closer to me, as if he could never be close enough.

Well, I'm sure we already remember the time when he was REALLY close.

Cough.

Too close for General Exhibition, in fact.

I sighed into the kiss, and his tongue cajoled mine smoothly. I was already feeling overwhelmed with heat. I wasn't as freezing cold as I had been before.

For, um, obvious reasons.

Awesome thing about Paul - he ALWAYS managed to make me feel hot.

. . . Okay, eww.

My fingers, which were almost digging into his back by then, jerkily moved lower as I began breathing harder. They reached the edge of his shirt, and pulled it up as if it couldn't come off hurriedly. Paul's hands, which were smoothing down my face and along my neck, suddenly moved away from me as he broke contact to execute the Mission of the Shirt Removal. It was a quick, impassioned action that was over before we regarded it.

Then, he was kissing me again. His hands straying down my sides, so they were beneath MY shirt. However, he made no attempt to get rid of it then. He was content with seducing the skin of my stomach, and driving me absolutely insane.

All with his fingertips, too.

God damn him.

'Paul - ' I said breathily.

He looked down at me, breathing harder too. 'If you want to, we can . . . '

'Should we? I mean . . . now? What if your grandfather wakes up?'

'What'll he do? Wheel up here and threaten to drool on us?' Paul's hands moved further up my top, till his fingers hit the spot between my breasts. I smiled luxuriously. Aww . . . that felt jolly nice . . .

'But - '

He didn't let me try to object again: his lips covered mine, effectively shutting me up and making me moan softly. I wanted him. His shirt was off, and my hands were freely dragging down his hot chest. I felt like a willing slave to passion, all over again. I still couldn't understand why he was always such an incredible source of warmth. I mean . . . the guy was like a campfire all on his own. Who NEEDED reverse cycle air-conditioning when I had him?

I mean, it was one thing to say that the guy was hot. But Paul had body heat that never quit.

Not complaining, since more often than not, I was freezing my ass off.

'Funny,' I said huskily, 'I'm not jabbing my thumb in your eye this time . . . '

He laughed. 'I'm sure the temptation's always there.'

Again, I was going to reply, but his mouth was suddenly all over my neck.

'Oh God,' I gasped. I twisted my head to the side, my chest heaving as I struggled for breath. 'Paul . . . '

But Paul was unstoppable, and so was I. I couldn't help but succumb to the passion. This time, it wasn't misplaced passion reserved for someone else. This time it was the real thing that I was feeling for Paul.

I turned my head and caught Paul's lips, kissing him with force that I had never unleashed before. I pressed against him, and he pulled me into him at the same time. Kissing, touching, breathing, reveling, adoring, overpowering . . .

I rolled over on Paul, straddling his waist. It was about time I showed him a little of my feminism. I mean . . . guys doing the hard work ALL the time? Um, this is the twenty-first century. The girl is capable of providing SOME of the fun.

My hands splayed themselves across his chest again, and I sucked in a toxic breath. My blood was pumping, hot and ready. My lips parted, and I scanned him from his stomach up to his piercing blue eyes. They were like knives of ice, pinning me back with their intensity. Just his look, embellished by the cold moonlight, was enough to make my heart beat in fierce overdrive.

He grinned up at me, as if in approval, enticing me to continue what ever I'd impulsively planned for him . . .

But that was when I saw it.

Directly above his head. I had no idea how I could have MISSED it. I mean, it has HUGE.

AND NO, it was NOT a COCKROACH.

As soon as I DID see it though, I froze.

'Paul,' I said slowly, 'Since when do you like Good _Charlotte_?'

He looked puzzled. 'What are you talking ab - ?'

He did not finish his sentence though, because right at that moment, the door creaked slightly, and a yell of horror rang throughout my eardrums.

'HEY! WHO THE - WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN - AAAAH!'

Horrified, I rolled off Paul and ended up falling completely off the freakin' BED.

Paul, however, was quick to explode at the intruder with overpowering ferocity.

'Jack! Get the fuck out of here!' A pillow was pelted viciously at the door. I heard the thunk. 'What do you think you're doing, bursting in on - who KNOWS what we could have been - '

'I'm sorry! I didn't see anything! I just - Paul, this is MY _ROOM_.'

Aaah. So THAT'S who liked Good Charlotte.

'It's WHAT?' Paul was still furious. He also sounded humiliated.

'Sorry!' Jack's voice was high, 'Sorry to your friend, wherever she went - I'm sorry, I didn't know you were back - God, I'm never sleeping in that bed again . . . '

I decided to pop my head up then. I was really, truly shocked. But come on, the poor guy was horrified.

'Jack,' I panted, scrambling up to a standing position, 'Uh . . . hi.'

The mini-Slater could hardly believe his eyes. ' . . . _Suze_?' he marveled.

'Um,' I said, 'Yeah. Listen, it's - '

'You're - YOU AND PAUL ARE . . . oh WOW!' he suddenly cried. Before I could blink, he had run over to me, and was hugging me with the lethal Slater strength. It took several seconds to process that he was HAPPY. You know, chuffed that he'd just walked in on his brother getting stripped by his old babysitter.

'I didn't know it was you!' he babbled, 'I thought that it was just some chick that Paul had grabbed or something, and - '

'You can still sleep in that bed,' I assured him, patting his back a little, 'We didn't - okay, Jack, I'm happy to see you too - '

'Sorry, Jack,' Paul was obviously very uncomfortable at the moment, especially at having to apologise after Jack had interrupted his private seduction, 'I completely forgot this was your room now. I mean, you even told me and Suze, when we were at that pizza place, didn't you? Sorry. And - hey, why aren't you asleep?' Paul changed his tune from apologetic to critical.

'Uhhhh . . . ' Jack let go of me, looking guilty.

'Were you on your crappy X-Box again?' Paul snapped. 'I thought you dropped that when you left Seattle.'

'Shut up,' Jack said defensively.

'We're sorry, Jack,' I apologised again. Didn't want to ruin the kid's peace of mind, after all.

Jack turned back to me, and a giddy smile conquered his face. 'This is so cool,' he grinned. 'You and Paul, I mean. I mean . . . what happened with Dani was really sad, but I always liked you better than her, Suze. But you always thought that Paul was such a dickhead, so I didn't think that you'd ever get with - '

'Hey!' Paul argued. Then, he shot me a questioning look.

'The boy speaks the truth,' I shrugged. 'You ARE a dickhead, Paul.'

Instead of looking insulted, Paul just raised his eyebrows. 'Okay, fair enough.'

'So, what'd I miss at Fortunaschwein?' Jack asked excitedly, 'Are the Misforts gone? And when did Paul and you - '

'Listen,' I said to Jack, 'It's late, and . . . we shouldn't really talk now. I'll give you the lowdown in the morning, okay?'

'Okay,' Jack nodded quickly. 'I . . . I need to get changed for bed now.'

'Yeah,' Paul said, equally as fast. 'Yeah, Suze and I are . . . going to one of the spare rooms. We'll talk in the morning, right. And yeah, sorry about that, Jack.'

'Dickheads like you can't help it,' he grinned toothily. He must have realised that this was the only time he was going to get away with swearing at his big brother.

Paul narrowed his eyes a little, but shrugged. 'I guess I deserve it,' he muttered. 'Okay, we're gone.'

He got a hold of my wrist, and we were outta there like quick silver.

After we'd bumbled down the halls, away from Jack's quiet call of ,'Goodnight!' Paul pushed open a door of another room.

It looked as cold and impersonal as his own had looked, as if ALL the rooms in this house were tidy and professional looking, as opposed to looking like they were human-inhabited. I guess the Slaters were just clean freaks.

Whatever. Paul, once again, didn't even bother with the light. Honestly, the house could have had a black out and we wouldn't have known, because we hadn't used a single light yet.

You'd think we'd be all over each other again, with the way the moonlight played on the surface of his glass house. But after our little encounter with Jack, well, that drive was a little drained.

'Wow,' I intoned suddenly, still holding his hand, 'Getting caught by your little brother is a complete turn off.'

Paul growled in agreement. 'You're not wrong.'

'Anyway, I think that we'd better just go to sleep now,' I admitted sheepishly. 'It's almost two, and we've had our fun for the night.'

'Not even close,' Paul grumbled again, disappointed. 'God, if that hadn't have been his bedroom, I would have KILLED him.'

I grinned, and rubbed his back soothingly. 'Come on, Paul. Sexual frustration isn't good for you. And plus . . . better Jack than your granddad.'

'Hmm . . . '

He tore back the covers, and then coaxed me down on the bed with him. I could see in the moonlight that he was pouting just slightly.

'Now shut up and sleep,' I ordered.

His arm pulled me into him, and while I was entertaining weird and wonderful thoughts, I must have fallen asleep somewhere between thinking that my life was a precious thing, and the thought where I finally realised at that precise moment, I was truly happy.

- 8 -

I turned over in the bed, the sunlight streaming on my face through the glass walls, and I noticed that I was in the bed alone, in Paul's spare bed. I pulled back the covers and rolled out, a little nervous about being in his house without him there.

I wandered down the hall looking for Paul. I was still kind of tired, so I had to hold on to the wall occasionally. A hint of a headache graced my head since I had had a few more drinks then I should have the night before. It wasn't that bad, though. I could deal.

I looked down at myself groggily, and realized I'd slept in my jeans that I had been wearing the day before. Oh, great. Eww. Now I'd have imprints all over my stomach for a whole ten minutes. Ugh. And my jeans now had that day-old crinkled look to them.

To make matters worse, all my clothes and personals were still in Paul's car outside, so I couldn't get changed yet.

Hang on . . . _hehe_. I could just materialize out there and grab my gear, right? I mean, I COULD now.

Oh, this was so cool . . .

So, just as I was visualizing Paul's jazzy black Jaguar and I could feel the materialization starting, I heard someone say, 'Suze, don't!'

Breaking of my intention to disappear, I looked over to see who'd stopped me.

'Oh,' I said, 'Hey Jack.'

Jack was staring at me with wide blue goggle eyes. 'Psst! What were you doing, Suze? You don't just - not when _Mark's _here! And Pops will KILL you! Don't tell Paul you were using your powers in broad daylight, or he'll have a total _cow_.'

'Oh,' I said. Suddenly, materializing from the Slater household to outside, during the day, seemed REALLY thick. Not only would I risk Dr. Slaski seeing me and giving me a grand lecture, but also Mark or other innocent bystanders who just so happen not to be as fortunate as I to be born with wacky ability. And I'd definitely be shipped off to the loony bin. 'Oh yeah. I . . . uh, I didn't think.'

'Only materialize if you really need to, Paul says. Because it does damage every time you do it. And don't do it where people can see! Like Mark was up here just a few seconds ago. He doesn't know anything about what we all are.'

I smiled guiltily. Wow . . . I felt really stupid now. 'I didn't think of that . . . I'll keep that in mind.'

You couldn't blame me for being enthusiastic about my new mastery of my ability, could you? And it's not like my instructor on this kind of thing had necessarily been using this ability sparingly, you know.

Yeah, but me getting brain damage for being lazy? That would SO serve me right.

Trust the thirteen-year-old to point this out.

'You've come a long way,' I observed with a wry smile. 'From announcing on high the whole I-see-dead-people thing, to telling me off. Good to know you realize the importance of our secret.'

Jack looked affronted. 'Of course,' he was indignant. 'I was eight, Suze. God.'

I crossed my arms and smiled at him. I guess it is hard to imagine Jack apart from his childhood, since that was how I knew him best. The awkward little freakazoid who couldn't keep his hair combed, much less his trap shut about his ability.

Now, Jack had grown comfortably into a, dare I say it? Nice young man? I guess I should since that's one of the only ways to describe it. Not only was he socially acceptable, but he'd also grew to have one of the best characters ever. He was just so sweet,

'How come your hair still looks good after you've slept with it out?' Jack changed the topic, a look of wonder coming to his face.

But, um, sometimes a little random.

'I mean, Dani's hair looked . . . weird when she woke up.'

'Thanks,' I smiled brightly, despite my shock in the subject change. I couldn't return the compliment though- once again, Jack had a lethal case of bed-head.

'No really, how?'

Oh, haha. There had been no intention of a compliment, just a legitimate question.

'I don't know,' I shrugged with a chuckle. ''What time is it, Jack?'

'It's twenty past seven,' Jack offered. 'Paul told Mark about you - he was happy too. He wants to say hi, and he said he'd make you breakfast when you wanted it.'

I was pleased with that. 'Mark remembers me?'

'Sure,' Jack grinned, his blue eyes flashing with a touch of admiration. 'You're kind of hard to forget.'

I wasn't sure if he meant that in a good or a bad way . . . Jack's funny like that. His intentions in his words and actions were often unclear. I think he does that on purpose to keep us guessing. Like he was playing a game with everyone.

'Where IS Paul?' I asked suddenly, taking a few steps closer to Jack's door, where he was hanging still. I could see the sunshine flooding his room, courtesy of the glass.

'Went to get the paper,' Jack informed me confidently. 'He got a phone call to go out and fetch one from CeeCee. There's some sort of article or something.'

I frowned. That didn't sound too wonderful . . .

'Wanna come in?' Jack asked after a second.

'Hmm?'

'Wanna come in my room and hang around till Paul gets back? We can listen to music. I can download anything you want, off of my - '

'Okay,' I consented, and once again, entered the Shifting Lessons lair. The room looked no different to last night, save the light. Now, it was so obvious that this room belonged to Jack. I mean, he didn't keep his room as spotless as Paul did back in the day. There were little things around the place indicated his inhabitance.

The posters, for a start. There was a Green Day one above his desk. On the floor, I could see scattered and infrequent articles of clothing. Hanging on his wardrobe door was a black shirt featuring Nirvana. I recognized Kurt Cobain's face.

'Wow,' I was impressed, 'You sure like your bands, don't you?'

'Yeah,' he nodded energetically. Something danced in his blue eyes . . . true appreciation for something. You could tell from the look in his eyes, the décor in his room, and the number of CD's laying around that music was Jack's life.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. 'You're not a teeny bopper, are you?'

Once again, Jack was very much so insulted. _'NO_.'

'Okay,' I said quickly, 'Okay, okay. I'd just kill myself if you really were a punk rock princess, is all.'

He threw a pillow at me.

'OW.'

'I'm NOT a punk rock princess,' he snapped at me. Suddenly, a funny look came on his face, and he sighed. Alerted that there was something was up on Planet Jack, I went and sat on his bed.

He slumped over to his laptop, and with a few expertly clicks, _The Anthem_ by Good Charlotte was sounding at a decent volume throughout the entire top floor of the Slater residence.

'JACKSON!' Mark bellowed from the floor below, 'You'll wake your grandfather up!'

I'm sorry, but that had me peeing myself laughing.

'_Jackson?_' I gasped, scandalized. 'Jack's short for JACKSON?'

Looking distinctly grumpy, Jack turned the music down considerably. 'Shut up,' he groaned. 'Paul gives me heaps for it too. Why couldn't I just get a name that couldn't be shortened? I mean, you can't make "Paul" any longer. He gets off so easy.'

'Call him Paulette,' I suggested.

'I do,' he replied, flopping on his bed next to me, face down. 'And Pauline. And Paulie-Anna. He doesn't care. He just reminds me that mum was stoned enough to call me _Jackson_, and he automatically wins.'

'Jackson Slater isn't THAT bad,' I admitted. 'It sounds like a rockstar's name.'

He perked up a little. 'Really? You really think so, Suze?'

_That I don't ever wanna be like you,  
I don't wanna do the things you do,  
I'm never gonna hear the words you say,  
And I don't ever wanna,  
I don't ever wanna be yooooooooou!  
Don't wanna be just like you!  
What I'm saying is, this is The Anthem,  
Throw all your hands up,  
Yooooooooou . . . don't wanna be you!_

Not really. It was piss-funny. But I didn't tell him that.

'Yeah. Anyhoo, Jackson – '

'Shut up!'

' – What seems to be the bother? You're giving off your dark and gloomy I'm-a-tortured-teenager-being-suppressed-by-the-consumer-driven-society-we-live-in vibe again,' I observed wisely, flopping back on his bed too, eyeing him with a grin. Golly, this little guy was so adorable, bedhead and all.

He sighed a drawn out, tortured sigh. 'You'll laugh.'

'No I won't,' I promised.

'You will so.'

'No I won't.'

_Shake it once, that's fine, shake it twice that's okay.  
shake it three times - your playing with yourself . . . again._

What a masturbate-ily educational song. I'd never noticed that line in _The Anthem_ before.

Jack sighed again, looking even more tortured. 'Fine . . . Mary dumped me.'

'What!' I demanded hotly, sitting up, 'Why? What's her problem?'

'I don't know,' he stared at his hands. 'She got Alicia to do it. Alicia said that Mary hooked up with some sophomore guy from RLS, while I was at Fortunashwein with the SIA . . .'

I snorted.

'You said you wouldn't laugh!' Jack said ruefully. He buried his head face down in his bed and mumbled, 'Go away.'

'I'm not laughing,' I said. 'I'm expressing my deep disgust for a very stupid girl who is an absolute retard for dumping someone like you.'

Jack looked up and stared at me. 'Someone like me?'

'Yeah. Someone like you. You're a complete catch, Jack. You're a cutie – sorry, but you got it in your genes, mate, so I know what you're gonna look like – you're sweet, you care about people, and you're clever.'

He half-smiled, and released a disheartened breath. 'Why couldn't you be my age?' he asked dreamily. 'That would be so cool . . . '

Um. Okay. Crush alert. Uh oh.

'Er,' I said awkwardly, 'Sure.'

He suddenly twisted away from me, and began rifling through one of his bedside drawers. I got a very horrible view of his shiny black boxers, and closed my eyes instantly, feeling like a kiddie-lover again.

I don't have enough money to go through Michael Jackson proportioned trials.

'Here,' he shoved something in my hand. I opened my eyes again. 'That's Mary.'

My eyes bugged. The huge blue eyes and honey blonde hair were trademark. She had a disgusting I-love-boy-and-they-love-me simper that was plastered across her face. It looked vaguely familiar, though. The familiarity was in more than just the stereotypical class sweetheart Miss Popularity.

'I know that face,' I said suddenly. 'Jack . . . what the hell's her last name?'

'Prescott,' he sounded confused.

I then fell off the bed for the second time in twelve hours. This time, I was laughing my ass off.

'What? PAUL laughed like that too when I told him! WHY?' he moaned woefully.

'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!' I roared, 'MARY PRESCOTT . . . OH MY GOD. You know HOW MUCH like your brother you really are?' I snickered. 'Paul went out with Mary's sister, Kelly. I swear . . . the both of you are suckers for big tits, aren't you?'

Jack was glaring at me furiously now. 'Shut up! She asked ME out! I didn't want to say no – she had all her friends there, _looking_ at me!'

Aww, man. Poor, POOR Jack. He, too, fell victim to the most popular girl in school and her little squad of leeches.

Still laughing, I grabbed Jack by the scruff of his shirt, and pulled him into a hug. 'You poor guy . . . a Prescott hooked her claws into you. Oh God, that was funny . . . Why'd you go out with her?' I asked in amazement.

'She . . . ' Jack started blushing heatedly. 'I hadn't had a – she was . . . um – '

'First girlfriend, huh?' I smiled.

'She kept wanting to kiss all the time in front of her friends,' Jack wrinkled his nose. 'She smelt of too much make-up, like my mom used to.'

Adoring this little guy, I gave him another hug. 'Swear off preps for me, okay?' I ordered him strictly. 'You're gonna find a girl who is going to love how sweet you are, I promise.'

'Okay . . . '

'So. You're over Mary Prescott, right?' I warned him with beady eyes.

'Uh huh.'

'Good.' I plucked her photo from his hand. 'We know what's happening to THIS then.'

And with a small blink, I set it on fire.

Jack scrambled back in alarm, but within two seconds of being suspended in midair, only a trickle of ash remained.

'Whoa . . . cool,' Jack breathed. 'I _so_ wish I could do that . . . '

'To her hair,' I agreed. 'Yeah. My high school days would have been a lot more exciting if I could set aflame the honey locks of _my_ Ms. Prescott.'

Um, actually, I can't really deny that my HS days were uneventful . . . what with being pressed against lockers, getting kissed, fighting ghosts, loving them . . . avoiding guys with dark intentions, wanting them . . .

Yeah. I was never exactly bored back then.

'So anyway,' I got back to the topic that I'd wanted to tell him last night, 'You're fine with, erm, your brother and I? Sorry we didn't tell you . . . we just had a some issues to sort out before we were sure.'

_Understatement_.

'Totally!' Jack said, his attitude changing like lightning when he realized we were focusing on MY love life now, instead of his, 'When did he ask you out? Did he do it while he was leaning on his car? He does that sometimes to try and impress girls – '

'_Does_ he now?' I raised my eyebrows and smirked. 'No, he . . . he didn't ask me out, as such. It's a long and boring story . . . ' Yeah. He didn't ask me out until AFTER he'd slept with me. Backwards gentleman, no? Ugh.

Still looking cheerful, Jack proceeded to probe me about Fortunaschwein's messy details. He sounded like he wanted to start a Suze Fan Club about the time when I mentioned how I died and came back to life.

'_Cool_ . . . ' he breathed in awe. ' That is _so freakin' cool_ . . . '

'Remind me to choke you to death,' I laughed, 'It wasn't THAT cool.'

'What happened then?'

And that Suze Fan Club turned into an INTERNATIONAL SUSANNAH SIMON DAY when I told him I resurrected three ghosts.

Hehe. Wow, I had a groupie.

Still in a state of wonder, Jack followed me downstairs, where he and Mark made us some breakfast – bacon and eggs. Mark and I had a bubbling conversation about Dr. Slaski – _his _Mr Slater – and what had happened for the past five years.

Mark had taken a twenty-four hour watch on Grandpa Slater now, since he was getting pretty fond of Jack and all. I didn't realize how much support Jack had from Mark, until I saw them joking together in the kitchen when they were cooking up their respective storms.

Mark looked a lot older now. He was about in his early forties. He still had laughing eyes, and was overly friendly. 'So, you and Paul,' he said happily. 'Didn't expect that. You always seemed so reluctant to arrive, and so quick to leave. I recall you practically running out of the house a few times.'

Practically? I WAS running out. And not just a few times . . . every single time. I wasn't exactly thrilled to get my life turned upside down with every lesson Paul gave me.

However, when his tongue ended up in my mouth, that was a different story.

'Yeah, I was always so grumpy about him _tutoring_ me back in high school,' I agreed. 'I don't think _anyone _expected that. Still wondering what I've got myself into.'

'_Certain death_,' Jack said evilly through a mouthful of masticated egg.

- 8 -

I finally hopped out of the shower, and slid into some pink velvety drawstring sweatpants, with a white tank top that had a sprinkle of rhinestones near the V-neck. Seeing as the Slater bathroom insultingly had no hairdryer, I had to go get my own again from Paul's car. Once I was as fully dressed as I could be, I was going to go and call CeeCee up to ask about her urgent request for Paul to purchase the newspaper, but it appeared I didn't have to.

'Suze?'

I stuck my cell phone back in my Kate Spade, and called, 'I'm in the spare room.'

When Paul came ambling in a few seconds later, my heart skipped a beat when I saw them.

'Holy crap,' I gasped.

In his hand, was a bouquet of stunning lilac carnations. I smiled very broadly, and grabbed them off of him. They smelt amazing. I mean, I'm not exactly green-thumb-having, but I KNOW gorgeous flowers when I see them.

'You like them?' Paul looked relieved. 'I was going to get roses, but . . . that is too cliché for my liking. Carnations get far too downplayed, I reckon.'

'They're amazing,' I said happily. I was glad he hadn't got roses. They had been Cole's trademark. It was as if Paul knew that . . . which he couldn't have.

I suppressed a shudder as I reflected back on the time Cole had sent me those blood red roses with the chilling note attatched.

However, I felt the urge to point out something.

'I know why you didn't get roses,' I sniggered. 'Last time you sent me roses, you screwed up my feet. Too many embarrassing memories linked to that, I suppose?'

His ears went ever so slightly pink, and he scowled at me. 'That is beside the point.'

With a turbo-watt glee, I beamed at him anyway. 'I like carnations too,' I agreed. 'They beat roses any day.'

'Yeah,' Paul went into the bathroom, got one of the clear vases there, pulled a candle out of it, and filled it halfway with water, ''Well, I've got some bad news. Not BAD as such,' he went on, taking the carnations from me and putting them in the vase, taking a moment to admire them before he nodded with satisfaction, 'But enough to get me really mad . . . '

'Um,' I replied, not really sure what to say, 'Have anything to do with the paper that CeeCee called you up about?'

Paul stared at me. 'How'd you know - ? Oh. Jack. Yeah, that's it . . . '

'U.S.A Government decided that all lawyers on the globe are to be exterminated?' I guessed randomly.

Paul cracked a smile, but shook his head, looking grim. 'Nah . . . ' he shook his head.

I sat on the bed and sighed. This really wasn't going to be good, was it?

He pulled a copy of the _Los Angeles Times_ out of his jacket, and shoved it under my nose. I took it, and read carefully.

' . . . Oh.'

'Yeah,' Paul agreed. 'Oh.'

It seemed that the media was determined to hunt down all the little details about Danielle Moore's death that they could. A lot of it, however, they'd obviously made up . . .

The basic gist went something like this:

Paul Slater, a "latest fling" of hot-shot model Danielle, rented out an old boarding school in Gilroy for a secret getaway. Some mutual friends had been invited to come along. It said that this group had been seen at a local McDonalds, and there was a lot of tension between Paul and Danielle. Later that night at a club, Danielle's "man" was seen dancing with "another woman," who was discovered to be one of the aforementioned "mutual friends." Mere days later, Danielle's body was discovered in a cold shower. It was revealed that she'd killed herself by overdosing on pills, which all up, contained a massive amount of codeine. It was assumed that this suicide was brought on by heartbreak, as the press believed that boyfriend Paul Slater was having an affair . . .

It went on and on, slandering the HELL out of Paul.

Briefly mentioned was the fact that Dani's body had been transported back to England for a patriotic memorial service and a private funeral with family and fellow fashion gurus. There it was continued on a later page, talking about Dani's rise to stardom before it had come to a crashing stop. There was a discussion of "rumors" about how and why people think she killed herself. It mentioned STUPID little facts about Fortunashwein, like how the graveyard was completely destroyed when locals say "it had not been like that previous to Danielle's stay there."

. . . What the hell WAS this?

'That's a load of _bullshit_!' I said very angrily. 'They had NO evidence of all of that. It didn't mention _anything_ about her bulimia, for one thing! You broke up with her that night that - that we . . . you know - '

'I know the facts, Suze,' Paul said coldly. He looked almost as mad as me. 'If they have had named you though, there'd be a LOT more dead bodies being shipped to England at the moment . . .'

'God,' I was MAJOR pissed off. I scanned the words again, feeling my blood boiling. 'What they said about you was SO out of line - '

He sat beside me, and groaned. 'What a freakin' mess. I guess we forgot about the press side of things . . . Dani being who she was, I mean. Of course they're going to be unsatisfied with her killing herself for no reason. They had to make up excuses for it.'

'Yeah, they didn't have to make you look like a womanizing man-slut,' I spat. 'They know nothing about you!'

Paul gave me a dry smile. 'That's not the only paper, according to CeeCee. She said one of them stated that we're still all suspects for murder, which, ironically, is at least the CLOSEST to the truth, huh.'

I gave him a sympathetic look, and rubbed his arm. 'It's just a story.'

'Now I've got a reputation, though,' he growled. 'As a lawyer, that's not the best thing. A client of mine would probably think I'm sleeping with his wife, or some shit like that . . . God, this is _so –_ ' he broke off, and released a grunt of pent-up rage. 'Media-decreed reputations are really hard to change. Any celebrity can tell you that.'

'What are we going to do about it?' I asked. 'I mean . . . we can't tell them the whole truth. Can we tell half of it?'

Paul looked at me, and smoothed his hand over my cheek, not looking quite as angry. Then, his face hardened again, and he looked away. 'For a start, I'm going to call up this _fucked_ _up_ newspaper.'

'You can sue them, right?' I checked. 'I mean . . . that was defamation of character, right?'

'Bloody hell it was,' he took the newspaper in his hands again, read it, repeated some of the offending lines, and then threw it across the room. The pages all separated immediately, spreading across the floor in an organized chaos. It littered the once spotless room, serving as a metaphor to Paul's newly tarnished rep.

'I'm sorry,' I said to him. 'That shouldn't have happened to you, on top of everything . . . '

He slid his hand into mine. 'It's not your fault,' his look softened.

I was frustrated at the ignorance of people, and at the world. They had no idea what Paul went through after Dani's death, a few moments prior to her death . . . even in Dani's life.

I mean, he had to watch her as she practically deteriorated right in front of his eyes. She not only took out her misery on her own body, she also took it out on Paul. He thought it was HIS fault. And JUST when he was starting to realise it wasn't, the WORLD now thought it was his fault.

People just SUCK sometimes, don't they?

The paper didn't see any of that. In fact, it just served to make a scandal out of her death . . . it made him feel more guilty and more responsible than ever.

'I know it's not my fault,' I told him, giving his hand an affirming squeeze. 'It's not yours either.'

'This is going to follow me forever, Suze. Like a ghost, if you will.'

I pulled away for a moment and searched his eyes for their meaning. 'What makes you say that?' I asked.

Paul immediately looked away. 'Just when I thought I was over it all,' he sighed, 'it came back like this. I have a feeling it will continue to happen this way, as long as Dani's fame outlives her. It could have been the other way around. Dani could have outlived her fame, if I had been there.'

'I don't think so. Just because we deal with the dead, doesn't mean we can prevent their deaths from happening,' I reasoned. 'That's not our job. We're liaisons, not heroes, Paul.'

'You turned out to be a hero,' he stated.

I blinked. 'No I didn't. I didn't do anything remotely heroic. And by the way, I'd be a heroine, not a hero. I have tits, not pecs.'

'Nothing heroic my ass,' Paul eyed me seriously. 'You came back all the way from the _dead_ to save the day. And from what you told me . . . sounds like it took a little effort to do that.'

Yeah. I'd filled him in about what happened after I was strangled. You know . . . the darkness, and the endless pain . . . and then the light.

'Well,' I retorted, 'You saved me from drowning. So there.'

'You saved me from my bikie buddies in the chapel,' Paul countered smoothly.

'You saved me from that fire when I tried to exorcize the Misfortunates,' I argued.

'You saved me from dying in that last fire in the ballroom,' Paul replied, smug. 'Right after _Jesse_ did,' he added with some embarrassment.

'You saved me from Cole,' I spluttered.

'You saved _yourself_ from him,' Paul raised his eyebrows. 'When I got there, he'd been knocked out. You obviously were giving what you were getting, Suze. Even if your _giving_ was of the shifting variety.'

I paused.

Paul continued, though. 'If you ever wanted a hero, Suze . . . you didn't need one. You had yourself. You were the only one who could have saved you. And you did. Sure, I helped with the little temporary threats on your life – so did de Silva – but in the end, who was it that really pulled you out of the shadows?'

He smirked.

'You.'

Feeling a little odd, I stared at him.

And then I smiled a little too, understanding what he meant.

'You saved me, too,' Paul added quietly. 'You just don't know what from . . . '

'Right,' I said, steering the conversation away from me, 'so what are you doing today then?'

'Well,' Paul answered pointedly, 'I was hoping to spend it with you . . . why? Are you planning to make yourself too busy for me, Ms. Simon?'

'Anything's better than you. Especially watching paint dry. Exhilarates the hell outta me, ya know? And growing grass. Now THERE'S a killer pastime, right there – '

However, it was then when he leaned right forward, and kissed me.

Caught off guard, my eyes flew wide open momentarily, until they slowly drifted closed.

Oooh . . . this was nice . . .

Pulling back from the unexpected, yet teasingly soft kiss, Paul just smirked at the goo that was now oozing all over the spare bed. Goo that was formerly Susannah Simon, I mean.

'Entertaining enough for you?' he quirked an eyebrow.

I said something incoherent, before coughing loudly, and blushing.

He laughed at me. 'Well, Susie, I have to go make some calls. To Dani's family, for one. And also, to this damned newspaper,' he added darkly, throwing a dirty look in the direction of the messy papers on the ground. 'And,' he went on still, 'I've got to call someone back . . . they were going to tell me what's happening as far as Cole Kennedy's trial's going.'

'W-what?' I spluttered on my own saliva, COMPLETELY thrown.

Paul smiled encouragingly. 'Don't worry,' he said.

'Uh,' I shook my head after a second, 'I'm gonna go stop by my home, all right? Just to let my family know I'm still alive – ha, funny how loosely I use that expression, haha – '

'Okay,' he confirmed. 'I'll meet you there later.'

- 8 -

Ninety-nine Pine Crest Road, my humble abode. I climbed out of my car and walked on the pine-strewn lawn to my front door. It looked as though Andy, in the amount of time I was working, had painted the door a dark forest green. It matched the fresh pine needles that were all over our yard perfectly.

Andy had also installed a nice gold-finished doorknocker that had this antique charm that went perfectly with the old house. I grasped the knocker firmly and gently tapped it against the door and waited a few moments. I heard minor shuffling from the inside of the house.

The door opened, and my own mother, who looked really surprised to see me, greeted me. Before I could even say anything, however, she pulled me into a quick, loving embrace.

'Oh, Susie,' my mom said, 'please come in. You look exhausted.'

'You have no idea,' I said as I let her take my hand and lead me to the plush couch in the living room. I sank down into the chair, and my mom busied herself by fetching me a glass of water.

My forced smile faded dramatically. 'Ah,' I winced a little, 'Yeah . . . that. I can totally explain that. Sort of . . . but not really.'

Mom sighed, and sat in the couch in front of me. 'Dazzle me with your story, Suze.'

I was floored. I didn't really know what to say. I mean, how could I explain to her that the reason I was in Gilroy instead of Canada was because I was doing some Ghostbusting. She'd never buy it, no matter how old I was.

'I . . . well, after the thing that happened at the chapel, we all had this crazy idea. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it but I couldn't because-'

My mom let out a sigh. 'I understand Susie. Believe it or not, I was a spontaneous twenty-three year old myself. I know you're an adult, but you should really tell me about things. You haven't exactly been close in contact since you left Carmel.'

'We didn't go far. Only to – '

'No, Suze. I'm not talking about a few weeks ago. I'm talking about five years ago.'

'Oh.'

I felt really bad for hiding things from my mom. Especially the Cole thing. I wanted to tell her about it so much, but I didn't want to worry her about it.

I looked downward, and clutched my hands together. A wave of guilt washed over me. Lifting my gaze once more, I met her eyes and gave her an intense stare. 'I've hid things . . . because I had things that were too shameful to share with you,' I said after a second.

Her eyes widened. 'Suze - '

'Things that I thought would make you look at me in a different way. But I was stupid. Stupid to think that you'd not love me as much just because I made a couple of mistakes. I'm an idiot. Well, I was. I'm not anymore. I don't want to hide stuff from you now,' I finished. 'Still wanna hear what I have to say?'

She gave me a patient look. 'Of course . . . '

'I'm sorry,' I said first off. I was more sorry than I could have expressed.

Of course, this would have seemed like the perfect time to have told her about the Mediator thing.

But really, was there ever a perfect time for that?

I reckoned that that always was, and always would be, my burden alone to bear. It was my secret, my hidden identity, my responsibility, my curse and my gift. There was a reason that Shifters and Mediators couldn't be so easily picked out from the crowd. We were meant to remain out of sight from society, silently doing the work that we had been born to do.

Paul and I sure had our work cut out for us.

I took a huge breath, and looked her in the eyes again. My heart was thudding. I was scared to say the words, but at the same time, relieved.

'You know that guy I was dating?' I began croakily.

'Yes,' Mum nodded, her gaze riveted on me. 'Cole.'

I smiled grimly. ' . . . Cole. There's . . . stuff I didn't tell you about him.'

Well, I sure told her then. I told her all of it. All the way from Massachusetts to Gilroy. Ghost-stuff was skipped, of course. But everything single thing where Cole was concerned, I spilled all the grisly details. The alcohol, the hitting, the yelling, the near-rape encounters. I relived all the words I said. Mum was a silent listener. She didn't interrupt me. She ended up lowering her gaze halfway through, before putting her head in her hands.

Finally, I finished off my story, telling her that he had been arrested, finally. He was going to court. He was going to be out of my life. He was going to jail, and I was going to put him there.

I was going to testify.

'So,' I said a little shakily, 'How's that for a bedtime story, huh?'

Mum's eyes, warm and tear-filled, snapped back up to me. She brushed her curls away from her face. 'Suze . . . oh, baby . . . '

And then, she launched herself at me and pulled me into a fraught hug, holding me very dearly. I could feel the side of her face against mine. It was wet. 'I love you _so much_ . . . ' she said very firmly. 'You should have told m – '

'I know,' I whimpered. I was crying too. Wow, when had THAT started? 'I know . . . I was stupid, I thought that – I was wrong. I was too proud to tell you. I wanted to try and fix it like it never happened, but then it just kept getting bigger, and bigger – '

My mother's arms were even more comforting than Jesse's or Paul's. I hadn't known them as long as I'd known Mum. For eighteen years, her arms had protected me. For five years, my own feeble arms had been my only protectors. But now, I remembered how warm my mum's hugs felt. I remembered it all. I remembered that thing called "family," that thing I'd been distancing myself from for so long. I remembered that, even though I might have been in trouble, mum wouldn't have judged me. She would have just loved me unconditionally. It was in her job description; she couldn't help herself but love me.

It was only now, that I remembered that.

'You're my baby girl, Susie . . . ' Mum moved back on the couch, and I curled up against her. 'Never forget that. You're mine. And I'm always here for you.'

She stroked my hair softly. 'So he's . . . definitely not going to hurt you anymore?' she checked gingerly.

I shook my head. 'Nope. No more. It's over. He's either going to jail, or a psycho ward. Whichever will take him, I don't care.'

Mum didn't answer for several minutes. We just sat in this content silence. It was like this connection, that had been severed for so long, had finally been brought back together. And I felt warm.

She spoke, finally. 'I've missed you, Susie.'

'Me too,' I whispered.

'I don't want to miss you anymore.'

'Yeah. I think I've had a bit of a wake up call,' I smiled delicately. 'I'm not going to waste time anymore.'

We were quiet again. Then, she said, in an almost comical voice, 'So, you got anything else you want to drop on me?'

I grinned, and sat up slowly, hugging my knee to my chest. 'Well . . . if you insist. For a nice start, you remember CeeCee Webb?'

Mum nodded. Hah, you would have never guessed that a minute earlier, we'd been bawling our eyes out. Now, we looked like we'd been discussing our favourite shade of lipstick the whole time. 'Yes, your albino friend. She was lovely.'

'Yeah, well, she came on this thing with me too . . . minor detail. Major detail: she and Adam got married.'

Mum's eyes widened in delight. 'You're kidding! Oh wow, Suze, that's wonderful!'

I beamed. 'Yeah. Registry office. But they're going to have a proper wedding, otherwise Father Dominic will smite their firstborn. And Cee's making me Maid of Honour,' I added as a side note, with a smug little smirk.

She looked beside herself with joy. 'Those two . . . well, we knew they'd do it some day. You always told me how she was all over Adam in high school.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Tell me about it.'

'So, anything else you want to share?'

I considered. 'Do you remember Paul Slater?'

Mum's cheeks went a little red. 'Yes, him. He had a big crush on you. Brad always used to tell me, in not-so-pleasant terms. He was the good-looking one that tutored you, right?'

Tutored. Hah. Yeah, in all things NOT academic.

'Er, yeah,' I muttered. 'Well, he – '

'Oh, I heard,' Mum looked appalled. 'That business with Danielle Moore, the supermodel. Poor Paul.'

I grumbled a bit. 'The stuff in the paper is all crap,' I said fiercely.

'They said he cheated on her,' Mum sighed. 'Well, _that_ much I wouldn't put past him, but all the rest – '

'Mum!' I scowled, 'Let me finish.'

She closed her mouth, looking a little guilty.

'Well,' I said, 'After hearing you think he's a man-slut, I'm not too sure I – whatever. He _didn't _cheat on Dani. Trust me. Although, if he _had_ have cheated on her with anyone, it would have been me.'

Mum took a few seconds to process this. When she did, she looked at first alarmed, and then confused. 'What do you mean? Is that hypothetical, or – '

'We're dating,' I murmured. 'Him and Dani, funnily enough, were also on the trip. I was the one that . . . found her.'

Mum got her Oh-my-wouldn't-Carmel-love-to-know-THIS-tidbit! glazed look, but then remembered that even though she was a newsreader, she couldn't sell out her own daughter. 'You found – after she'd . . . _you_ found her?'

I nodded uncomfortably. 'Yeah. You did miss the point, though.'

'What was the point?' asked Mum, dazed.

'That I'm now in a relationship with Paul Slater,' I clued her in.

She frowned, still coming to terms with the whole Dani thing. Then, she was all, 'Oh. Oh! Suze, that's gr – ' she broke off, looking uncertain. 'Are you sure it's the best thing to do? Jump into another relationship, after . . . him?'

I shook my head. 'Probably not. I don't think _anything's_ the best thing to do after that. But Paul really loves me. And I love him. It's not just something we're testing out, to see if we can hit it off or something. We're pretty serious about each other.'

Yeah. I completely came back from the dead to save his life, and everything. I'm totally committed.

Mum smiled warmly. 'Then that's all right. I feel better, having actually met him. Does he, erm . . . ' she winced a little, 'use as much hair gel these days?'

I snorted loudly. '_No_.'

'Oh,' she looked relieved. 'That's good to know. He used to love himself a bit, didn't he.'

'Good observational skills,' I said easily. 'Doesn't worry. I think in this period of five years, scientists have alerted him that, contrary to his previous belief, he was not the center of the universe. He's better for it. He's grown up,' I finished. 'And I really _do_ love him . . . '

Yeah, after what WE'VE been through, I should think so.

Mum smiled wistfully. 'I can tell. You have that look in your eyes,' she told me.

'Really?'

'Uh huh,' she nodded. 'I think every woman can recognise _that_ look.'

I remembered back to my identifying of CeeCee's lovesick expression, and grinned.

'Yeah,' I agreed gladly. 'We can, huh.'

- 8 -

'So,' Doc said, 'You use the stuff I gave you? The ghost detecting equipment?'

I shook my head, squinting over the steamy hot bubbles of the hot tub. 'No, sorry.'

He shrugged, with a polite smile. 'That's okay. I didn't think you'd need it anyway. I was more giving it to you just in case you wanted to let CeeCee or Adam use it.'

'Oh yeah,' the possibility dawned on me. 'That would have been smart, huh.'

'It's all right,' Doc went on. He was sitting on a little stool outside the hot tub, a copy of Time Magazine open on his lap. 'I missed you, Suze.'

'I missed you too, buddy,' I gave him a thumbs up.

'Yeah,' he said. 'I . . . had something I wanted to ask you, as a girl, and . . . ' he blushed, 'A sister.'

OOOH. HE WANTED SISTERLY ADVICE. YIPEE!

'Shoot,' I said slyly.

'Well,' he closed Time, looking dreamy, 'There's this . . . girl I like.'

'I guessed as much. I mean, I was equally waiting for a "there's this boy I like," but it didn't come – '

'Shut up,' he said, now looking nervous. 'And she's really pretty. She's funny, and highly intelligent, and loud . . . but I honestly can't see her finding someone like myself attractive,' he concluded glumly.

'Have you talked to her yet?' I asked.

'Yes!' Doc looked excited. 'I asked her if she had the notes from our Theology lecture, and she leant them to me. That conversation went very well.'

'You've only talked to her once?' I was a little dismayed.

'Why? Should I have – ' he stopped. 'I'm not good at this type of thing, Suze. I have no idea what I'm doing. She's so _pretty_.'

'Forget about that,' I said. 'If she's self-centered, she's not worth you trying. If she's truly a good person, then she'll love your gorgeous red hair, your adorable freckles along with the completely amazing guy that's beneath all that. You're a total catch, Dave.'

I frowned, and tried to put it into Doc-speak. 'Okay . . . there's a 50/50 chance that this female in question will reciprocate your hormonal affections. Based on factors such as appearance and personality, she will make her judgment of you. However, seeing as it is most likely that she will react positively to a good personality than just appearance alone, your odds are a lot higher, seeing as you're awesome.'

I smirked, and continued.

'Long term relationships are a lot more common when couples can relate to each other, rather than relationships that have a basis of only lust. So interaction with female in question is mandatory,' I said, 'as is eventual expression of interest in her. In other words, go get her, tiger. If she doesn't like you, that's completely her loss. And it's nothing to worry about – the right chicky-babe will come along for you.'

'Oh!' he said, 'I've got it now! Wow, us humans are so fascinating, aren't we? Okay – thanks, Suze!' He took his magazine, and scuttled out of the enclosed hot tub area, looking very pleased.

Smiling at my oddball of a step brother, I sank lower into the hot tub, loving how hot the water was and how relaxed I felt already. I was quite impressed with my ever-reliable Shifterific ability to lose any bodily bruising so fast. There were grey-green grazes along my body now, but they weren't nearly as noticeable anymore.

I turned the bubbles off, and closed my eyes, breathing in the wonderful steam.

I took a huge mouthful of air, and dipped my head under the torrid water, staying there for a second by holding onto the hard plastic sides of the tub. The silence was a loud one. I could hear tiny echoes of when I knocked my foot against the side. It was another world of sound, beneath water . . .

When I slid my head, I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes. However, it appeared that someone had joined my presence in the spa room.

'Why is it, Miss Simon, that I always seem to catch you whilst you're swimming?'

I opened my eyes quickly, and saw that Paul was sitting on the side of the tub, smirking at me.

'What are you doing here?' I asked quickly.

'Looking for you,' he angled his head. 'Your mom just finished offering her sympathies about Dani, and then proceeded to grill me about "us",' Paul looked a little badgered. 'So, you two have talked, have you?'

'Yeah,' I nodded. 'We caught up. A lot.'

'You told her about Cole,' he continued.

'Uh huh.'

Paul looked around the spa room, an eyebrow raised. 'You're fogging up the glass, Simon,' he pointed out.

'Maybe I should stop breathing,' I suggested. 'That's what always seems to kill me. And besides, that's the same glass door you broke seven years ago, Mister.'

'Hah hah,' his sarcasm was thick, 'Mind if I join you? The lovely Mrs Ackerman already said I could.'

'You got trunks?' I scoffed.

'No, I plan to skinny dip,' he drawled, then rolled his eyes. 'I have boxers, which I hope will suffice.'

'All right,' I scooted over, 'Come in. As long as your boxers don't dissolve in water.'

'Oh, but they do,' he said, tugging his black T-shirt off. I tried very hard to keep my gaze on his face, but I failed miserably. My eyes slid down guiltily to his godly chest, and I wanted more than anything to be running my hands over it again.

He unzipped his jeans, and kicked them into the corner of the room, before climbing over the slightly raised side of the tub. I eyed him intently, as he settled himself into the water beside me.

'It's . . . hot,' he commented.

'That's why they call it a _hot_ tub, genius,' I elbowed him. His arm pushed behind my back till he'd gotten a hold of me, and he slid me along the slippery seat so I was right against him. I squeaked a little.

'There we go,' he said.

'To think, the last time you were in this hot tub, your head was being forced under by Jesse,' I chuckled.

'Hmm,' he didn't sound too fond of this memory.

I rested my head just beside his, against his neck. My hand started sexually harassing his chest slowly, as my fingers traced all over it. I breathed out a whole lot of steam, and then turned my face to kiss the side of his neck a little. He groaned, and his head leaned back a little.

My knee lifted up a little till my leg was resting casually across his beneath the water. Still kissing his neck, with my free hand I jammed the bubble jets back on. He jolted a little - he was sitting directly in front of one, hah. Looking down at me with a dirty look which turned into a smile, he muttered, 'Thanks for the warning, Suze.'

I felt his hands come to my sides as I slid around further so I was soon sitting on my knees, over his lap, kissing the side of his face and along his jaw. Bubbles licked at my back. One of Paul's fingers slid beneath the string of my bikini, and I felt my face burn brightly.

'Whoa,' he said, his voice not as strong as before, 'I'm so thanking your mother for letting me in here. This has got to be the best invitation I've received as of yet.'

I smiled. 'Easy, cheesy.'

His other hand slipped down to rest itself on my hip. He seized my lips with his own and began to kiss me in rhythm with the current of bubbles streaming around us. My mind grew numb with the glory of the many sensations coursing through my body all at once . . . the ones from the jets and the ones Paul himself was giving me.

Somehow, both of Paul's hand had found themselves on the top edge of my bikini bottoms. I felt him play with one of the strings again, as if he were going to pull it out of its knot. I looked at him for a moment, and how the light from inside the hot tub cast a strange glow on Paul's features. His illuminated blue eyes made me wonder if he would do it.

'Bad Paul,' I shook my head at him, pursing my lips. I let go of his shoulder to slap his hands away beneath the water, 'Off!'

He shot me a sizzling half-smile, looking insufferable and so completely hot with water flecked all over the part of his chest that was above the water. His eyes were on fire with mischief, melting the ice.

His hands crept up my back, and he pressed his fingers into various places on either side of my spine. My eyes fluttered closed and I frowned again, flicking my hair away from my face.

With his large hands, he pulled me a lot closer to him so his mouth was able to reach my chest area. He began trailing kisses along my collar bone, on the top of my shoulder, and on the side of my neck. I sighed and gasped accordingly, holding the back of his head and running my hands through his still mostly-dry hair.

He kissed just by my ear, hitting a . . . spot, and I visibly shivered, despite how hot the water was. 'God,' I said. I really didn't think that THIS was the time to be feeling how I felt then. I pulled back a little. 'Okay, a little too good there - '

But he wouldn't. He tugged me right back against him determinedly.

And I'd stop now because . . . ?' he said in a very deep voice against the side of my neck.

'Asshole,' I said huskily.

He laughed evilly, as one of his hands dropped from my shoulder, past the bubbles and ventured almost defiantly till it rested on my thigh. I looked at him questioningly. However, when his fingers tricked down to the inner part of it, I almost died.

'Hey!' my voice was strangled, 'Not here! Paul - ' but his hand went on stroking just between my legs, as he smirked up at me, daring me to tell him to stop.

Getting a little worried at how, um, aroused I was getting, I leaned my head back. Then, with a movement I couldn't have anticipated, I felt Paul urge me backward until I was now sitting down opposite of where he'd been, and he was half over ME.

And he hadn't stopped that thing, either.

It was hard to breathe, with all the steam and my stupid pumping heart. I laughed with a quiet hysteria, before grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him down to kiss him again. There was a splash of confusion as he almost slipped, but I didn't care. Why was he so good at DOING that? I mean - even in my step-dad's hot tub!

Of course, it was at that moment when there was the slamming of the glass door, and then an almighty, 'What the HELL? SLATER - ? HEY, MAN. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY SISTER.'

Paul broke away from me, looking both alarmed and annoyed.

'STEP-sister,' I corrected a very beefy looking Brad who was in his fluro-orange trunks, and had a towel in his hands. 'Do you _mind_?'

Suddenly, I was starting to remember why I'd distanced myself from this family in the _first_ place.

'I didn't know _he_ was here,' Brad glared at Paul.

All feelings of arousal were being completely replaced by humiliation. The bubbles were still bubbling away noisily. 'Hey, Ackerman,' Paul said, still sounding pissed off, 'Knock at all?'

'I did. You were too busy sucking face with my sister to hear, you – ' Brad then proceeded to call Paul something that I care not to write.

'Hey, Brad, your mum? Yeah, NOT my mum. We're not related,' I said acidly. 'STEP-sister. Say it with me, like they used to teach you in Special Ed, _Step­_-sis – '

'Whatever,' Brad looked disgustedly over at Paul, and left.

I groaned.

'We just keep getting interrupted, don't we,' Paul smiled wryly, looking as irritated as I felt.

'Yeah,' I said. 'It _can't_ be healthy.'

'Maybe we should just give up on privacy and go back to Fortunaschwein,' Paul suggested. I molded back against him, and sighed, 'Something like that.'

He laughed hollowly, and sighed in equal frustration. 'Want to motel it tonight, Simon?' he grinned down at me, his eyes glinting sinfully.

I blushed quite a lot, and then smiled. 'Good idea.'


	34. Dreading the Speech

**Full credit goes to Jane for a line that Suze says in the chapter . . .**

**OH MY GOD, HAYLEY GOT INTO HER UNIVERSITY THAT SHE WANTED, YAY! CLAPS ALL AROUND!**

**(Hayley: Yeah, that'd be TCU! GO HORN FROGS!)**

**Okay. I'm aware that this chapter is criminally short. I know. And I know how long it's been since we've updated. What...four? Five months?**

- FL -

Okay, when Paul had suggested that think about going to a motel to get some 'privacy,' I really hadn't thought that he actually MEANT it.

I mean, Paul's a funny guy. He tells jokes – usually dry, sarcastic ones about me that only _he_ gets. He likes getting me all hot and bothered with his teasing . . . loves getting reactions from me.

But one thing I shouldn't have doubted about that man for a second, was his freakin' libido.

He badly wanted us to have some 'alone time,' and he would not rest until we had some 'alone time.'

And when we finally got some alone time, uh, he still wouldn't rest until AFTER we'd finished what he so badly needed alone time to do.

Get the picture? Yeah.

So there I was at two in the morning, breathing VERY heavily with Paul's arm across my chest. A giggle escaped my jittery lips, and I buried my face against Paul's shoulder.

'Enjoy the break, Simon,' Paul growled into my hair, 'I'm not done with you yet.'

'You most certainly are,' I snapped good-naturedly, 'I don't remember when I've ever been more tired. Mentally, not physically.'

'Don't insult me, woman,' he said.

I laughed. 'It's . . . late. Go to bed.'

'We _are_ in bed,' he pointed out, running his fingers down my back. 'Ergo my very subtle hints to continue our recent beastly ways.'

'Insatiable bastard,' I commented. 'Shut up; I'm sleepy.' I twisted in the king bed to face him. I could hardly see his face, it was so dark. But I saw the smirk.

Oooh, boy. You couldn't miss it. It was twenty miles across his face. Paul's manner was so playful, and yet the way his striking blue eyes bore into me, I could tell he meant business.

I rolled my eyes – an action that he obviously couldn't see in the darkness – and kissed just below his chin. He made a pleased sound, and dragged my form closer to his with a voracious arm. Then, he crawled over me, kissing my neck and shoulders relentlessly. I started giggling uncontrollably.

'You're killing the mood,' he joked, making me laugh harder. 'Shut up, Simon. It's distracting me from my attempts to seduce you some more.'

'It – it tickles,' I was shaking with giggles, 'You know it tickles there – '

'Exactly,' he grinned against my skin. 'Let's see if I can find anywhere else that tickles . . . '

Okay, laughter thing? He REALLY wasn't helping to stop that and all . . .

After about half an hour's worth of affectionate kisses and kinky talk, he'd finally forgotten what his other brain was fiercely wanting, and had settled down into a light sleep. I smiled as I watched him sleep, twisting curls of his hair around my fingers very gently. I just felt . . . happy. Frivolous, too – but mostly exhausted. Because, Paul? Yeah, not the lenient type when it comes to all things sexy.

And me? Not exactly _mature_ about all things sexy.

So I guess we were even. Sort of.

I really wasn't that tired, all of a sudden. Physically, I was spent – no matter how badly I'd lied to Paul before. My head was tumbling like clothes in a dryer; all warm and pleasant-like. After deeming that watching Paul sleep may have been a tad bit too fan-girl for my style, I slid stealthily from between the sheets, and grabbed a throw-rug that was on one of the couches beside the daggy motel bed.

What?

Paul had been horny.

He hadn't been thinking about how many stars his motel had to have when we pulled over. Neither had I.

I mean, there was nothing _wrong_ with the Carmel River Inn. Sure, the rooms were a bit on the scruffy side, and stuff in general looked a little drab – but I honestly didn't care that much. I felt a _lot_ more relaxed than I had in a long time, not to mention cheery. My face ached from smiling.

You know what? None of it matter as long as I was with Paul.

Parking my hiney down on the couch, clad in the throw-rug that I'd oh-so-expertly wrapped around my body, I just smiled, eyeing Paul's rising and falling chest. My breathing fell into sync with his, giving me another silly bubble of happiness.

Things were kind of scaring me a little. It was as if in the past week, so many pressures had been put on me to grow the hell up, and act like an adult. I'd been so used to acting like the little teen girl, so burdened with lusty, downy-faced boys. It wasn't until I started seeing the potential danger of these boys – these _men_, that I'd felt the real heat of what men could actually do to me. That it wasn't some hide-and-seek game; I really did have a problem. I needed to start dealing with the mess like an adult and not a child that kept running away from the scary monsters.

Maturity. Never one of my strong points.

Then there was the death. Dani's. You'd think that being a mediator, I'd be able to deal. Just another dead person, right?

Yeah, ghosts? A WHOLE different ballgame from corpses. Ghosts still have light in their eyes. You can still see that reflection . . . like when you're sketching a face, you have to be certain that you've got that little shape of white against the pupil, that reflection, to allow your portrait to have life.

Corpses don't have that light. Their eyes are hollow. Dead.

Seeing, let alone _finding_ Dani's body like that had been one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I hadn't had the emotional maturity to deal with it like an adult, because in the last five years, I hadn't really ever grown up properly. I was still a kid in so many ways . . .

But the biggest slap in the face to my maturity had been, of course, losing it to Paul.

Sex.

They say that a lot of _teenagers_ don't have the capacity to handle sex, and its emotional repercussions. Teenagers very rarely have a love that is unaffected by their rampant hormones, and first-time sex can be devastating to anyone, let alone a kid, when with the wrong person.

I hadn't been mature about sex at _all_. I'd reacted the way any kid would have.

I had a while to go before I matured properly. But I was catching up now. I was finally behaving like an actual adult. I was growing up, and I was _willing_ to this time . . .

- 8 -

How I'd ended up back in the bed beside Paul, I had no idea. I mean, I'd definitely fallen asleep on that couch. I'm . . . almost sure I had.

I had, right?

At seven the next morning, I grumpily turned onto my stomach, burying the side of my face into my pillow. My back was kind of aching, and I still felt very tired. None of this rise-and-shine, bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed crap. I was feeling funky.

. . . Then I remembered why.

Aww, shit-sticks. The speech, today.

With another groan, I rolled onto my back again, and stared up at the ceiling again, blinking the sleep out of my bleary eyes. My gaze flickered sideways, and I saw that Paul was staring at me intently.

'Whoa!' I jumped slightly. 'You - I didn't know you were awake, and you were just - _ogling_, and your eyes were all blue and squinty - '

He grinned at me. 'I was watching you sleep. It would have been a bit more romantic if you hadn't kicked me when I went to touch your face.'

'Oh,' I winced. 'Sorry. Where did I kick you?'

He gave me a take-three-guesses look, and I bit my lip. 'Oh,' I said again, smiling guiltily. 'Didn't know I had such good aim in my sleep.'

'Hah hah,' he was all sarcastic. 'So, what got your panties in a twist just now? Well, lack thereof. Nightmare?'

I sighed, and wriggled closer to him. 'Equivalent of. I just remembered, I gotta say a big almighty speech today at the reunion. Why couldn't they have given me a topic to write it on? Like, Hitler's rise to power, or . . . my opinions on abortion or something.'

'Or the stellar bedroom sex tricks your boyfriend can do,' Paul said.

'There's the shortest speech ever,' I smirked.

'Hey, be nice.'

'Aww, come on. You set yourself up for THAT one,' I defended, giving him a sweet smile. He looked affronted that I'd insulted his sexual capabilities, but rolled his eyes at me. 'Sticks and stones, Suze Simon.'

'Way to alliterate,' I muttered. 'Anyhow, got any advice for my future speech-making? What the hell am I going to talk about? Can I like . . . scream, 'LOOK! A HIGH VOLTAGE SIGN!' and then run from the reunion in terror?'

Paul snorted. 'High voltage sign, Suze?'

'Shut up.'

'Hmm,' he pondered, rolling on his back and pulling me against him. I stared down at him, waiting patiently for a heaven-sent solution to my public-speaking issue. 'Of course, my advice is to wing it . . . but that's just me.'

'But what am I winging? What basic subject am I going to babble about?' I asked desperately. 'I hate talking in public as it is. Ass kicking, I can do. Inspirational speeches? Not me.'

'Just – '

'If 'speak from your heart' are your next couple of words,' I said savagely, 'stop talking _right_ now.'

Paul stopped talking. His gaze fell to the pillow, but the corners of his lips twitched upward.

I whimpered, and flopped on top of him in defeat. 'This sucks,' I said. 'Can't they just get Kelly Prescott to do it? She was the president!'

'I think she is doing one as well,' Paul mused, stroking my hair comfortingly. 'So as long as yours is better than hers, I'll be ecstatic. If not, it's the streets for you, missy. Because her speech is probably going to revolve around how much hotter she's gotten, and her sympathy for those who have put on weight.'

I smiled, my eyes closed against his shoulder. 'She's had her baby by now . . . '

'Oh yeah,' Paul said. 'Good for her.'

'You don't like her much, do you?' I lifted my head, and stared directly down at him.

He gave me a bored look, and shrugged. 'If twenty Kelly Prescotts stood in a row and I blew air through the ear of the end one, you'd feel the air come out the opposite side.'

I gave him a disapproving look. 'She's actually smart. She just acted dumb because thought guys liked that.'

'They don't,' Paul said darkly.

'Yeah,' I pointed out, 'You're more of the stalking, sexually harassing type, aren't you?'

His gaze snapped up to mine, and he smirked wryly. 'Cute.'

. . . OH! THAT'S why he was bitter about her!

I laughed at him scornfully. 'Oh, _now_ I get it. You slept with her, didn't you.'

He screwed up his face. 'I knew you were going to ask that.'

'Hmm?'

'No.'

'_Hmmmmmmm_?'

'Fine. Once.'

'Liar. You were going out for like, three months.'

'Okay, more than once,' he muttered sheepishly. He looked as if he didn't want to talk about it anymore. But did that stop me from asking?

Heck no.

I batted my eyelids teasingly. 'Regrets, Paul Michael?'

'What?' he demanded guiltily, 'The person I _actually_ wanted wasn't exactly slaking my desperate need for – '

I interrupted him with a haughty, 'Yeah. 'Desperate' is the word.'

He just laughed. 'Thanks for that, Simon. The Paul-bashing session is now over. Trust me, usually I'd be boasting about chicks I've nailed, but Kelly was definitely a blemish on my Wall of Pride.'

'You have a Wall of Pride,' I repeated dully. 'Who's up there? Mr Walden and Bradley Ackerman? What, do you have a Wall of Hope, too? I used to be up there with Natalie Portman, the Virgin Mary, and Jesse de Silva, right?'

'That's really _off_,' Paul wrinkled his nose. 'Don't joke about such blasphemous things.'

'The Virgin Mary?'

'No . . . _de Silva_,' he replied.

'Oh come on,' I teased. 'I saw you looking at his tight, tight pants . . . '

He snorted, sounding grossly affronted. 'Oh, please. At least I wasn't the one wanting to _get_ in his tight, tight pants.'

'You're a dick,' I scowled at him. 'But then . . . you are what you eat.'

'_Hey_!'

Paul rolled over on top of me and pinned me down on the bed. I tried to push him away playfully, but he was far too strong. Finally he rolled back over, holding his hands in an 'I surrender' manner.

Of course, I didn't really win because I was the loser who still had a speech to come up with. Boo.

I grinned, but then sighed in defeat. 'So basically what you're saying is . . . you have no way of helping me with my problem,' I drawled.

'Sorry,' Paul said sarcastically, unforgiving of that crack I'd made before..

Rolling onto my side, I groaned. 'What time is it, anyway?'

'Eight,' Paul replied.

'Somehow this conversation is getting all déjà vu-y,' I mumbled. 'Okay, Mr. Slater. Are you done with me yet? Can we go and get ready for the reunion now?'

'Want to have a quick . . . re-union of our own before we go?' Paul asked me roguishly, leaning over to kiss my neck with unbearable skill. I cringed from the ticklish thrills, smiling with embarrassment on his behalf.

'_No_,' I said pointedly, through a mouthful of smiles, 'And might I remind you, corn is my least favourite vegetable.'

'That wasn't _corny_,' he argued defensively. 'It was a witty pun on my part.'

'Kelly Prescott's blond highlights have more wit,' I informed him triumphantly.

However, he wasn't letting me escape without the session of kissing that soared from gentle to somewhat hardcore. By the time I crawled from the bed, I ached pleasantly.

'You are no help,' I teased as I searched the ground for my shirt. 'I haven't practiced my speech yet. I haven't even DONE my speech yet. Kelly has probably had hers since the night of graduation.'

'Not the night of graduation. She was out getting drunk at some after party,' Paul pointed out.

'Hell, it would still be a better speech than mine no matter what state she was in when she wrote it.'

Paul, who was stretched out on the bed in a lazy-yet seductive way, smirked.

'You can always practice on me, Simon.'

I found my shirt and threw it at him, where it landed gracefully on his face. He peeled it from his face and moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

'No, I'm serious,' he said. 'I'll let you practice your speech on me. If having a good speech is important to you, then it is important to me.'

Five years ago, I would have never described Paul as sincere. Self absorbed, maybe, but never so genuine. I couldn't help but smile to myself. However cheesy what he just said sounded, I knew that he really meant it.

One, two, three…AWWW!

I began pacing around the motel room a bit, thinking of where to begin. I mean, I'm not the most articulate person in the entire world. In fact, I usually avoided public speaking altogether. Had it not been required, I probably wouldn't have taken speech class in school either. It just wasn't my thing.

'Wow, guys,' I began sheepishly, 'has it really been five years? I mean, I remember high school like it was just yesterday…'

'Simon, you might want to put your shirt on. It's a little distracting,' Paul cut in, holding out my shirt. Embarrassed, I took the shirt from him and slipped it over my head and then resumed my pacing.

I began again. 'This school brings back such fond memories. Old relationships, old friends, good times, favorite teachers, our triumphs-'

'I liked it better when you had your shirt off,' Paul interjected again with a yawn.

'Not helping, Paul,' I groaned. I shot him a dirty scowl and flopped next to him on the bed.

'I'm sorry,' Paul apologized, 'but that sounds really dull. You know, like you bull-shitted the whole thing mere hours before the reunion.'

'I _did_ bull-shit this only hours before the reunion,' I pointed out to him.

'What your speech lacks is substance. Put some emotion into it, Suze. Don't be afraid to be honest. Don't fake it because this is your chance to say to these people things you kept inside for five years. Five _freaking_ years, Simon! We all know what happens when you hide your feelings for long periods of time.'

I smiled but kept my mouth shut. You know, having wild-hot sex with Paul Slater wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but he is right. That would have never happened if he and I never confessed how we felt.

'I think I can do this,' I resolved after pondering it for a moment to myself. 'How about…'

'Um, Suze,' Paul interrupted once more, 'maybe we can continue this later? It's eight thirty and we have to check out, go home, and get ready to make it to the school by ten thirty. Father Dominic wanted us to help him set up, remember?'

With a time frame like that, I'd never get the speech done by eleven thirty, which was the approximate time I'd be giving my speech, according to the itinerary. In short, I was screwed.

Paul, seeing my worried expression, took my hand and consoled me by saying, 'Don't worry about it, Suze. It's just a speech. If you don't get it right this time, there's always the ten year reunion.'

'Way to be optimistic, Paul,' I replied sarcastically.

'I'll still love you no matter how crappy your speech turns out-'

I shot him a killer warning glare, and his hands shot up in surrender before I could kick him.

What a supportive boyfriend I've got, right?

'I'm kidding,' Paul said apologetically. 'Well, for all of it except the loving you part. And that I'm dead serious about.'

I smiled, moving closer to him, and said, 'Fine, you are forgiven.'

I started kissing him rather passionately, in a way I would hope was distracting.

'Let's just…stay here. Skip the reunion. Like you said earlier, there's always the ten year…'

'Nice try, Simon,' Paul drawled, 'but we're going to be late. Come on.'

Damn it. What happened to all the horniness earlier? Why must my boyfriend have to be timely?

We both put on our clothes- the same ones from last night- and checked out of the motel in record time. We rushed over to Paul's mansion of glass, and after being questioned a bit by little Jack ('Aren't those the same clothes you wore last night?'), we began to get ready.

- 8 -

**YES. YES, THIS CHAPTER WAS DISGUSTINGLY SHORT, WE KNOW. Hate us, kill us, slay us… we are sorry, but Hayley's busy and Lolly has issues, but the next part of this chapter will be out –**

…**We can't even promise that, actually. But we will try, I swear. We are SO sorry for the wait. We've had a LOT of trouble writing.**

**Lolly (and Hayley.)**


	35. Stories, Lessons and Life

I was reading over the very first Flashlight-y conversation that Hayley and I ever had. It was where we first got the idea, and I saw what I said when we were planning:

**Are we going to make this like, a mystery kind of thing? Um...horror? Or whatever? Nothing gory, and NO ONE DIES!**

To which Hayley replied:

**I agree, NO ONE DIES (except those already dead)**

Not to mention, in our initial planning, Danielle was originally meant to be a shy, mousy girl. Who, um, wasn't planning on dying.

It's funny how things turn out sometimes. You know, in the people-DID-die-but-occasionally-came-back-to-life kind of way...

And without further ado, we present Flashlight, Chapter 35.

_PLEASE review._

** - 8 - **

Father Dominic didn't waste any time with pleasantries when we arrived. Before even saying hello, he handed me some streamers and a welcome banner to be put up right away.

Adam and CeeCee were already there, setting up the refreshments table. CeeCee, of course, was making punch because Father Dom knew better than to trust Adam with the job. He had a history with spiking the punch that started ever since the first started having dances in the seventh grade.

Father Dom sent Paul off to work on the sound and set up the microphones. I didn't know Paul could set up stuff like that, but I guess every guy has this inborn knowledge of how electronics work or something.

I felt kind of nostalgic just then, setting up all of the streamers. On some occasions when I caved and allowed Kelly to use some of the of class budget for one of her lame dances, guess who had to set up the decorations? That'd be me. I would set up while Kelly claimed she had some other dance business to attend to, when I knew for a fact she was out getting her hair done. A full up-do with a perfect stream of curls doesn't take a skip and a snap to create, you know. I wasn't a total dummy.

I wondered if Kelly would come early, or even at all. After all, she just had a baby and everything. A new flash of horror bubbled within me when I realized I could be the only one speaking today because if Kelly didn't turn up, then it would be all me running the show. That would be a disaster!

By now, a bubble of hysteria was swelling inside my abdomen. I really was scared of this speech thing. Despite being a last minute girl till the end, I was starting to seriously doubt that I'd pull it off.

Maybe I could just play I-Spy or something.

Relief came when I saw a flash of blonde when I was setting up the yellow streamers. It was, in fact, Kelly. She was there impeccably dressed and all dolled up with make-up and in pretty good shape for someone who literally just had a baby. The only thing different about her was, well, that she was toting around a little bundle of joy. A screaming one at that.

'Sorry I was late,' she panted. 'Little Rolex here needed a diaper change.'

I stopped dead.

…She did not just say her baby was called Rolex.

As much as I gawked in horror, she continued prattling on as if "Rolex Turner" was an extremely normal baby name. '…And our nanny is sick, so I had to do it myself. You know how little boys are.'

I smiled awkwardly, unable to get over the Rolex thing. But yeah, I did know about kids. I'd done a lot of babysitting before and knew exactly what she meant. If t wasn't stringed peas in the hair, it was getting baby barf on my clothes or something. Although, having a _nanny_ must have made motherhood a lot easier.

Being a brand new baby, _Rolex_ was really tiny. Once he stopped screaming like a banshee, he opened his little eyes a bit to look around. I could see they were a really dark blue color…they matched the ocean. His mouth opened in amazement of everything around him. As much as I wasn't all that fond of Kelly and Scott Turner, they sure made cute babies.

Adam and CeeCee found their way over there, having completed their task of setting up refreshments. Adam really didn't want to meet baby Rolex, but CeeCee dragged him over there. He made it a point to cough, 'Demon spawn,' while Kelly passed Rolex to CeeCee.

Before Cee knew what hit her, she'd been dumped with the baby. Kelly, relieved that she was free, went off to the restroom, saying she'd be right back to help me with those streamers and that I could put up the banner if I wanted to. No one knew whether or not she'd really be back for sure, but the streamers were boring anyway.

The banner was pretty long, about 20 feet, and kind of heavy. I could manage on my own, though. I was tough like that now.

And even if I wanted help, everyone had pretty much evacuated the courtyard. Adam and CeeCee went off to go play with the baby, Father Dom went to make a few more phone calls to check on certain arrangements, Kelly was still in the bathroom, and Paul had just disappeared.

I was able to hang up the first side with little difficulty. It was the other side that was a pain in the ass. Or, a pain in the back, rather. Getting it hung up straight was really putting a strain on my back and arms. I'd get it fastened up, take a step back to examine, and then realize it was a little crooked and I'd have to redo it again.

I was about to just leave it crooked. I mean, who really pays attention to the sign anyway? I could just go off and finish the streamers or something, no big deal.

But something inside made me determined to get it done. This wasn't just another thing I could put off or run away from. And even though it was something really insignificant, it somehow really mattered that I got it done. If not for the sake of good environment, for MY sake.

As I reached up to fix the sign one more time, I heard a light tapping on the mic. I turned around and saw Paul behind the podium. He cleared his throat and announced, 'Suze, I have an announcement to make...'

I asked, half-expectantly, 'What is it, Paul?'

'...That sign isn't straight.'

'Well, YOU'RE not straight,' I grumbled.

Paul just laughed and said, 'Here, let me help you.'

I shook my head and told him I could do it myself. I mean, it was a stupid sign. Anyone could hang up a sign. Although I was having difficulty, I could too.

'How about I just tell you if it's crooked or not from here?' Paul asked.

I took a few steps and examined the sign from a distance. The left side was considerably more lopsided than the right. I exhaled defeatedly, swallowed my pride, and said, 'Okay, whatever.'

I tried it again, and Paul gave me directions like 'higher...just a little higher...no, wait, too high try lower'...stuff like that. I made those adjustments, and when I was done I turned back for Paul's approval from the podium. I almost jumped because instead of being at the podium, he was right there behind me. He had shifted there.

He slipped his arms around my waist and brought me in for a light kiss. He looked at me straight in the eyes and said, 'It's perfect.'

I smiled back up at him and rested my hands on his chest. 'Well...you're perfect,' I replied, meeting him again for another kiss.

I would have cringed at my own cheesiness, but I was a little busy.

He wasn't perfect, I knew that. But I didn't care. I didn't want perfection. I wanted him.

I couldn't help but see the similarities between this banner hanging and my life in the past five years. When I was given the job, it seemed like everyone had run off to do their own things. I felt so abandoned, but I tried to do it all by myself. Those people were only a call away, but I resolved to do it all on my own, but it always turned out crooked. It took someone else coming in and guiding me to get it straight again...and more importantly, me accepting help after so long of being stubbornly "independent".

There was a loud cough.

Guiltily, Paul pulled away from me, running his hand through his hair, pretending we hadn't just been sucking face.

'Father Dominic,' I said with a forced laugh. 'Hi. We - um, just...got the sign straight. And we were - '

'Celebrating,' Paul concluded, sliding his arm around my waist.

Father Dominic's smile went wry.

After a moment of excruciating silence, Father D broke in to inform us that the DJ was here already and that people would be arriving soon. He said that the chocolate fountain that Kelly ordered hadn't arrived yet, and that Kelly was having a slight panic attack about it.

Well, if you call hyperventilation and obsessive pacing slightly panicking. Otherwise, I would say that Kelly was _overly_ freaked out.

I went to go help her out. Mascara was all over the place, but when Adam, holding baby Rolex, announced that the fountain had arrived, Kelly threw herself on Adam in relief. Adam patted her back awkwardly and when she was done nearly choking him and her baby, Adam shoved the baby back in her arms and hid behind me.

'Get that thing away from me,' Adam said, utterly freaked out. 'It's Satan's offspring, I swear.'

'What happened?' I asked.

'Well when Cee let me hold it the first time, it was smiling up at me all cute and stuff. And then it farted. It was disgusting, and Cee said it was probably time to change it. I knew that's why Kelly dumped it off on us. It was just gross! And then after I changed it, it spit up on my tie! Look!'

Adam shoved the tie in my face.

'That's lovely,' I said, pushing it away from me.

'I would vow never to have children if my wife didn't look so cute when she played with it. I figured we could stand to have a few. When we have them, you know what?'

'What?' I asked.

'She's changing it. That's that.'

I laughed and thunked Adam on the head.

'Maybe we'll just have girls or something,' Adam resolved.

'Why just girls?' I asked.

'Well, they probably aren't as gross. I mean, they probably don't pee on you or spit up as much. I bet they don't fart as much either. Am I right?'

I rolled my eyes. 'NO, Adam. Girls are just as gross, and vomit just as much as boys. Society just praises the less than fragrant smells that leek from the asses of strapping young boys. Girls just had to train that anal muscle for pride's sake.'

'Oh,' Adam said, disappointed. 'Shoot...' he grumbled. 'Maybe we can just get a goldfish.'

Adam and I had a laugh and then went off to find our significant others. People were coming in little by little. Father Dom cued the DJ to start playing some upbeat music to welcome everyone. Once the party had really started and everyone was there, there was tons of dancing. It was surprising to see some of the former nerds bust a move on the dance floor, but sure enough the same people who used to play wallflower were the new dance machines.

I milled around with Paul for a while. I relished the jealous stares of my former female classmates.

We stopped and chatted with Debbie Mancuso, who had said, 'I knew you two would end up together. Don't tell Kelly I told you this, but I thought you two were a better match, you know? Ya'll just had more...something.'

Wow, that was profound.

'But don't tell Kelly, whatever you do,' Debbie pleaded. 'Promise.'

We promised. Kelly was married, so It really didn't matter if we told or not. I don't know if Debbie realized we weren't in high school anymore, but whatever.

'I don't know if this is, like, not cool to talk about, but what was with all the tabloid stuff?' Debbie asked before we could wrench ourselves away.

Debbie wasn't the first to ask us that. It was pretty common knowledge that a few of Mission Academy's own had made it in a number of those magazines. Apparently everyone had seen it on the stands as they went grocery shopping or something.

Paul's smile faltered a little. 'Oh,' he muttered a little bit darkly. 'That's...it got out of hand - '

'I mean, knowing Danielle Moore!' Debbie said in a frenzy of excitement, 'Is it really true that she got her nose done? Because I've never been able to tell - '

Of course. Debbie didn't care about Paul's media plight, or the tragic suicide of a famous celebrity. She only cared for the important things in life.

With slightly colder eyes, Paul replied, 'No.'

Debbie suddenly remembered. 'Oh - oh! Sorry, I forgot. I'm such a - ' she laughed uncomfortably. 'I'm sorry for your loss,' she said, way too fast. 'Is it true that you cheated on her, ultimately leading to her - '

'No,' I overrode her. 'Definitely not. ANYWAY, Debbie, me and Paul've got to - you know, work the room and all that jazz. Go say hi to Kelly. Hold her new baby.'

'Let him puke in your hair,' Paul's smile looked so sincere, that Debbie stopped completely, wondering if she'd heard him right. In the midst of her discombobulation, we made our escape.

We wandered round a little more, smiling at our old classmates. Occasionally, our fellow ex-students commented on Paul's situation, conveying their sympathies and hate for the press – only after hearing his short and sweet defense, of course.

As more people came, in either classy or outrageously stupid clothes that desperately screamed, "I've changed. Yeah. I'm cool now. WHAT? STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M NOT COOL NOW. YES, I KNOW MY THONG IS SHOWING. IT'S HOW ALL THE COOL PEOPLE WEAR THONGS THESE DAYS. INSECURE? OF COURSE NOT!" I started to remember that I had my speech.

...Oh dear God.

What the HELL was I going to say?

I tugged on Paul's arm a little. 'Hey – you.'

He looked down at me, and his smile faltered a little. 'Suze. You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?'

'Hah hah,' I rolled my eyes sarcastically. 'Anyway. Just wanted to know...we can't just leave now, can we?'

He raised his eyebrows in confusion, but then grinned. 'No, Suze. We can't.'

I felt ill. 'But – come on, Paul. I'm scared more of this freakin' speech than I was of the Misfortunates. Can't we bring them back? I want another crack at them. Anything but this.'

Paul looked around at the swarming people, and then turned to face me properly. His hands ran down my arms, and he looked at me dead in the eye.

'Suze,' he sighed, 'come on. Don't wimp out on us now. You stopped three evil ghosts and put a criminal in prison. You died and came back from the dead. And you're freaking out over saying a couple of words to people you used to go to school with?'

'I don't like public speaking,' I replied. 'Did you know that more people have a phobia of public speaking than they do death? I did the whole death thing – it really wasn't that bad. I can do it again, you know. Got a rope?'

'Not funny,' Paul tried not to smirk.

'Can you do my speech?' I begged silently. 'I'll make it worth your while.'

His eyes glittered for a bit. '...VERY tempting,' he said, but then sighed. 'But I must deny myself...'

I pouted. 'You suck.'

That's when music suddenly started up. I groaned. Black Eyed Peas began playing, testing my gag reflex even further.

- 8 -

Ten minutes later, I was REALLY freaking out.

'Okay, Suze,' I gritted my teeth in front of the mirror in the ladies' facilities, 'Just talk about...'

I tried to think of a lame topic, but even THAT I couldn't think of. I was blank. In every sense of the word.

I delved my hand into my purse, deciding to talk about the first think I felt:

'...Flashlights.'

I sighed, and leaned on the wall sadly. I was a dead woman.

Again.

Suddenly, the tinkling of materialisation caused my ears to pick up. I looked up in the mirror and saw Jesse standing there. I was horrified.

'Jesse! This – this is the _girl's_ bathroom!'

He went pale immediately. 'It – it is? Oh..._Dios_, I'm sorry, I didn't realise – '

'No.' My hand shot to his wrist. 'Stay. It's not like anyone's in here. Cowering. Like myself.'

His features rearranged themselves to form confusion. 'What is it you are...cowering from, Susannah?'

I gave him a tired look. 'I have a big fancy schmancy speech to say. I don't want to do it.'

'Ah,' his mouth twitched into a knowing smile. 'That explains it all.'

Moaning, I appealed to him. 'What do I say? I can't just go up there and be completely lame. Because then I'll be Lame Speech Girl. I can't be Lame Speech Girl. I can't!'

'Have you told Paul about this?' Jesse asked.

'Yes,' I grumped. 'I asked him if we could skip the reunion. He said no. Jerk,' I added sulkily.

'He was right to not let you,' Jesse smiled. 'You are afraid of something, Susannah. And your first instinct is to once again, run.'

My eyes widened, as I went to deny that furiously.

...But he was dead right.

My mouth fell open a little. Oh my God. Had I...really learned nothing, after all this time? Was I still trying to hightail it when I caught sight of any problem?

'Oh, God,' I said woefully. 'I didn't even realise that...'

I closed my eyes, and sighed. 'I just...don't know what to say. What do I tell these people?'

Jesse gave me a knowing smile. 'Oh, Susannah. I can't tell you that. All I ask is that you approach this the way you've approached everything in your life: with passion, and determination.'

...Jesse obviously hasn't seen some of my ninth grade History assignments.

I gave him a grumpy look, and held my index finger and thumb very closely together in front of him. 'I'm this close to going on the internet and scabbing a pre-written essay from one of those website thingies, you know.'

Puzzled, he frowned. '...What?'

I waved my hand at him. 'Bah!' I muttered. 'You're no help at all.'

Jesse's lips twitched again. '_Querida_,' he said softly. That deep voice of his rang true with that small word. I turned and looked him directly in the eye. Whenever he said that, his face...it became so sincere that it would have been a sin to ignore him. 'You can do this. You are wise. Share with them how you became so.'

After staring at him in a daze, I sighed. '…Yeah.'

- 8 -

And that was how, eight and a half minutes later, I was standing on a podium with my entire year group blinking at me expectantly.

…WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

I looked at into the mass of familiar faces. They didn't look like they expected much from me. This speech wouldn't change their life, obviously. Nothing I could say would ever touch them very deeply. Was that what I was trying to do? Was I saying this speech because I had to? Because I _wanted_ to, for their sake?

…Or did I need to, for my own?

'Um,' I said. 'Hi.'

'Hey, Suze,' one of the guys in the audience waved jokily. It took me a moment to realise it was Adam. Suddenly, it was hard to see him… a brilliant yellow light was now shining in my eyes, and everyone else was cast in darkness it seemed.

I bit my lip.

'I won't pretend that I'm good at speeches. Or that I like them. Or that I prepared for this one. Or…that I wasn't in the girl's bathroom five minutes ago having a panic attack about what I'd have to say.'

That got a laugh. It got A LAUGH!

I grinned nervously. 'Doesn't it suck that it's been five years since I graduated and I'm still getting homework?'

Another laugh! Oh golly, this is going well.

'And,' I smiled, 'It must really cut the teachers to know I'm still not doing it.'

People were grinning at me now. My heart stopped pounding so forcefully in my chest. I squinted against the light. 'Well,' I shrugged, 'After all my stressing, I'm still not sure what to say to all of you. Only...' I looked down. 'A special friend of mine just told me that I was wise. Usually, I'd argue that he was either heavily intoxicated, bordering insanity or all of the above. He did have a point, though. He told me to tell you what I learnt. How I'm suddenly wise.

'I wouldn't call me wise, exactly. But I have learnt some things over the past months. I…was kind of in a really bad way,' I said, staring at my hands. 'I was in a really bad relationship, and I was letting myself be used. I hated myself almost as much as he did. I'd forgotten how to trust people, or my own instincts. I was still holding grudges over things that had happened a long time ago, and I was drowning in that pain. I didn't know how to let go, and I didn't think I was ever going to stop drowning.'

I looked up, trying to identify any face I knew…the light was too strong, though. It was like an enormous flashlight was glaring blindingly into my eyes. It would have reminded me of _that_ place, but that light had been gloriously white.

'Anyway,' I muttered. 'I got the letter to come to our five year reunion. The thought of coming back here terrified me, when I was in such a pathetic state. All the same, I took a chance and met up with my past; parts I loved, and parts I hated so much that they made me shudder. Well, _thought_ I hated, anyway. Immediately, I was thrown into a situation where everything I'd been running from was suddenly locked in a confined room with me. As much as I feared being left to drown on my own, the prospect of asking for help scared me even more. I was used to being weak and petty by then, and being made to change seemed like such an _effort_. I wasn't ready for it.

'But that didn't matter. It had been a long time coming, and I hadn't grown up yet. My life had been on hold since I was eighteen, and I had to let go whether I was ready or not. Things started happening around me; awful and tragic things, and I was _so scared_,' I whispered into the mic – I could feel the tell-tale burning in my nose and at the back of my throat, 'And I wanted to run all over again. 'But I didn't. Because around me were also some truly beautiful things. Beautiful people who got married with silly candy rings... a really awesome kid who likes Good Charlotte; a good person who never deserved to get hurt the way she did; someone with more love for everything but himself than I've ever known; an amazing friend whose ability to see the greatness and the potential in people still astounds me; and,' I beamed, 'someone who helped me find the strength I'd been dying for ever since I lost it a long time ago.

'I found it,' I went on. 'And I did good things with it. Really good things. I stopped letting pettiness hold me back. I let myself grow up. I found my strength, trusted by instincts, faced fear, and _refused_ to settle for pain anymore. That's the only way to live. I can, now I'm free of all of that. I'm not drowning anymore. I can see light, everywhere. Lots of light. And just like our teachers said when we graduated, we're _always_ full of potential, no matter how low we sink. I've been to the bottom, believe me. And I'm okay. So, Class of 2004, I'm Susannah Simon, your Vice President.' I was crying now, but I didn't care. 'Thank you for listening to how I became wise. Good luck for all of your futures, and congratulations to Kelly on her baby…Rolex Turner.'

Several people snorted with laughter. Kelly was blissfully unaware.

I did mean it, though. Despite the God-awful name, I was happy for her.

'And now, here's K – ' I went to say, but suddenly someone started clapping.

And that one clap turned into two, then five, then ten, and soon the whole place was standing and clapping. That was my first standing ovation ever...and boy did it feel good. I felt honored and important...like I really was more than a nearly forgotten face after five years.

Kelly, who was next to me, even _sniffled_ a little.

…Um, whoa.

I must have done something right because I pulled an emotional response from her that actually seemed _genuine_.

I saw a little shimmer in the corner of my eye and I turned to see Jesse leaning on one of the pillars smiling. He said something, but I couldn't hear over the cheering. I'm not an expert lip-reader, but I think it was something to the extent of, "I am so proud of you."

I was shocked at the response my speech rendered, so I just kind of stood there, clueless. Finally Paul pulled me away from the podium and into a little corner away from the spotlight.

'How was it?' I asked. 'Maybe I could write speeches for the president for a living. I wonder how much money presidential speech writers make? What do you think?'

'I wouldn't get too ahead of myself if I were you,' Paul replied with a smirk.

I frowned and ducked my head. 'You DOUBT my speech-writing ability?'

'Don't worry,' he said, tilting my chin up so he could meet my eyes with his, 'Your speeches may not be that great, but you are. That's why I love you. And, apparently, so did they. You were shining today, Suze.'

'I wasn't earlier, I can tell you that,' I said, kind of trying to hide the horrible blush that was creeping on my cheeks. 'I was almost certain I was going to heave. Either that or wet myself. Which do you think would have been less humiliating? I reckon barfing, because then I could just blame it on food poisoning or something... but then people might think that I had morning sickness, and that I might be pregnant, which is the only reason we got together, and I don't want anyone to think that – '

'…I'm begging you now,' Paul said. '_Please_ slow down.'

It was true, though... Not the pregnancy thing, no. But I wasn't shining earlier. I felt really hopeless...like I was in a dark room without a flashlight, or any way to get out of the mess I was buried in.

But I let some of my _own_ light shine. Even if it was my very personal story. It helped, though. To tell it, I mean.

That was when I heard the Class of 2004 chanting, 'SIMON SAYS! …SIMON SAYS!'

'Wow,' Paul said with a little glint in his eye, 'I think the crowd wants you.'

Wanting moi? No way.

'But,' he said grabbing me by the waist and pushing me into him, 'they'll just have to wait.' And with that he planted a huge kiss on me that caught me off guard.

Okay, wow. Random. I kissed him back happily, before realising that the Class of 2004 was whooping at me and Paul. Embarrassed, I bit my lower lip to stop a grin, before elbowing Paul to quit it. And to think, I was so against public displays of affection.

I guess there's something about making sure everyone knows who you love.

I'd never realised that I was popular at the Mission Academy for anything else than threatening to break Debbie Mancuso's fingers. Either they really liked me, or they'd liked my speech.

Or, to be really zany, BOTH!

I grinned at Kelly Presc - I mean, Turner, struggled to get attention. Scott was nursing baby Rolex, looking a little put out by this assignment.

'Hello! Excuse me, hello, yes - can I have your attention please? Okay, okay, Suze's speech is finished, now it's...my turn. _Excuse me_!'

Paul snorted discreetly. 'Come to think of it, I think anything you say will be better than Princess Kelly.'

Kelly unfolded a crackly pink sheet of paper from her pocket, and beamed out at the crowd. Then, she began her speech.

'...As I look at into this sea of bright, _shining_ faces, I - '

Paul started laughing very hard, very quietly now. 'Ah, Kelly...is there anything she _can_ do?'

I scowled at him.

Paul grabbed my hand, still sniggering, and pulled me around the crowd into the courtyard. However, he stopped rather suddenly. 'Oh...er, hey de Silva.'

Jesse was sitting beneath the Junipero Serra statue, smiling sadly. He looked up at Paul and I, before standing up. 'Your speech was wonderful, Susannah. I don't know what you were worried about.'

I grinned. 'Thanks.'

Paul eyed me, before glancing over at Jesse. 'I'm gonna go get something to drink,' he nodded briskly, before going back inside. I stared after him appreciatively. I hadn't really wanted to voice my request for a moment alone with Jesse. It was good that his "woman's intuition" was up to scratch.

I wandered over in front of Jesse, and motioned to the space beside him on the bench. 'Is this seat taken?'

'Only by an old ghost that select people can see,' he replied.

I sat next to him, and slid my hand in his. 'Thank you.'

'You could have said a good speech without any help from me, _querida_ – '

'No,' I looked at him squarely. 'Not just for that. For everything.'

He stared back at me, his other hand sliding over my own, so both of his caressed mine. 'Don't thank me, Susannah,' he said in a deep, scornful voice. 'I only acted how a fool in love is expected to act.'

I lowered my gaze. 'You saved me, Jesse. When I was sixteen, you saved me from being lonely. You showed me love. And now, you saved me from myself. Which is good, because I've been a real bitch to me lately.'

Jesse cracked a smile. 'I love the way you speak,' he sighed with some longing. 'I'll miss it.'

We just sat there, talking mildly for a while. There was a sense of heaviness in the air. It chilled me.

I rested my head on his shoulder, smiling. 'You're the best friend I ever had, Jesse…'

He laughed, solemn. 'You too, _querida_.'

He was stroking my hand gently with both of his own, trailing all his fingers over my skin. It was loving..._so loving_.

'I guess it just wasn't meant to be,' Jesse mused, his voice seemingly light but secretly drenched with grief. I knew why.

'No,' I said firmly. 'Everything that happened was meant to be, Jesse. This was just how it should have ended. I don't regret anything to do with you…don't you either, okay? We did nothing wrong.'

One of his hands came to caress my face, which was still leaning on his shoulder. 'I don't think I could ever stop loving you, Susannah. I'd never have the will enough to do that.'

Again, we settled into a soft silence. Halfway through that was when the tears came. They fell down my face noiselessly.

'You're leaving, aren't you,' I whispered.

Jesse's hand stopped stroking my face.

'Yes.'

My eyes blinked shut, and more tears that had been welling were forced from my eyelids.

I sat up. It was true. Already, he looked that little bit fainter. Oh God. Oh my God...

'I don't want you to go,' I told him, suddenly feeling panicked. 'Not after everything – '

'You don't need me anymore,' he smiled. 'You're happy, _querida_. You're happy with yourself now.'

'That can't have been all you were stuck down here for!' I said fiercely. 'They have to have a better reason!'

I didn't know who "they" was, but they were going to get some pretty pissy words from ME very shortly.

'It's all I wanted, though,' Jesse said. 'You're happy now. And it's finally my time to go.'

My face was stained. I'd known it the moment that I'd walked out into the courtyard. That look of grave decisiveness on his face had touched me deeply. I'd mourned him before I'd even confirmed it.

I pulled him close to me, holding him tightly. 'I love you too,' I said. He already knew that it was not the love he'd yearned for, so I found no reason to say this again. 'I'm going to miss you so much…'

'I've already told Jack,' Jesse said quietly, his voice so smooth compared to my shaken sobs, 'But all the same, tell him goodbye from me once more.'

I nodded ardently. 'I will, I will…'

Jesse's hands came to either side of my face, and he kissed my forehead chastely. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to stop my tears.

'Stay strong, _querida_,' he said against my skin. 'You deserve everything I could never give you…'

'No – '

'Goodbye, Susannah.'

'Not yet, Jesse…' I cried.

'I have to go,' he kissed my forehead again.

'No…'

'I love you, Susannah.'

I sniffed, opening my eyes. He was barely there. My heart lurched. 'Jesse,' I moaned, scared that everything I wanted to say to him wouldn't be said. 'I – '

'It's all right,' he smiled. 'I know…everything that's unsaid, I know. Don't worry about me. I'm happy…now that you are.'

He was almost completely transparent now. I could see the bench on the other side of him with almost perfect clarity, only tinted somewhat by his misty form.

'You will always be _mi querida_.'

And within seconds…he was gone

Forever.

Before I could stop myself, I started crying heavily. I wasn't sure why... I mean, despite everything he'd told me, that he was going to be fine, that he was happy...I just knew I was going to miss him like hell. After all this time, he was _gone_.

It took over ten minutes to pull myself together before I could show my face in public once more. I took deep comfort in knowing though, that Jesse was going to that place I'd been to. And he was going to find peace there. He would truly be happy.

I knew that from _personal _experience.

I'd never, ever forget him...

As I wandered back into the reunion which was alive with dancing and laughing, Paul found me immediately. 'Hey,' he said, 'Are you – '

I just slid my arms around him and hugged him forcefully. 'Mmm,' I said cozily. 'Don't move…'

He ran his fingers though me hair. '…He's gone, isn't he.'

I nodded against his chest. He clicked his tongue sympathetically. 'I'm sorry.'

'How did you know?' I asked him. Surely there could have been a million different reasons why I was all upset.

'I just…did,' he replied. 'In that shifter-y way.'

'Me too,' I murmured, still holding him.

Paul, with his arms around me, started rocking slowly. 'Hmph,' I hmphed. 'You didn't even ask me if I wanted to dance, Mr. Slater.'

'Fine. Do you want to dance?' he asked.

'No.'

He didn't stop rocking.

'Okay, I was lying,' I said, sliding my arms around his neck.

We just swayed gently for a while, despite the quick speed of the music. That was when "She Will Be Loved" came on.

'Ugh,' I said. 'Don't like this song…'

'Why not?' Paul asked, surprised. 'It's not that bad. You seem the type to dig these sorts of songs.'

I wrinkled my nose. 'I just don't.'

'Well, allow me to make it more bearable for you then,' he smiled, before – and I'm not even joking – he began singing it in my ear, word for word.

I grinned mushily, my head against his chest. 'I'm just terrified that you know this song as well as you do,' I said. 'Not packing any of Miles' tendencies, are you?'

Paul sniggered deviously in my ear, still swaying with me. 'If I were, could I be nearly as attracted to you as I am now?'

'Oh my God,' I said in horror. '_That_ one's going on the Wall of Shame…'

'Move in with me.'

'You have the worst pick up lines ever, Slater.'

'No. Really.'

I pulled away from him in alarm.

He looked tense, suddenly. 'Not to my granddad's obviously. I have a place already – '

'Okay,' I spluttered, happier than I could remember been since…the last time Paul had made me feel like that.

A beautiful smile of relief spilled over his face. 'Oh, good. That's, er, settled then. I've been trying to ask you all night...no time like the present.'

I chuckled. 'Dork.'

Suddenly, I saw Father Dominic weaving his way through the crowd. 'Susannah!' he hissed. 'Susannah!'

Eyebrows raised, I moved over to him quickly. 'What is it?' I asked nervously.

He looked jittery. But excited jittery, you know?

Hence my nervousness. Father Dom gets excited over very questionable things.

'Susannah!' he said happily to me…and Paul, who was standing right beside me. 'The SIA has their second job! I just got a phone call – '

'You're joking,' Paul said in awe. 'But - we landed our last employer in the big house.'

'I'm not joking,' Father Dominic beamed. 'This time, can everyone please make sure that I do not get attacked with a shovel? I'd like to spend the duration of our job _working_, not in a hospital bed.'

'Whoa, this time?' Paul said quickly. 'Slow down. Are we sure we want to be jumping into another gig so quickly? We already lost one of our members…two, actually, but only one was, you know…permanent.'

'And CeeCee and Adam still have to get married,' I said worriedly.

'What about us?' CeeCee and Adam suddenly popped up.

'Eavesdropper!' I accused, pointing dramatically.

'The SIA just got a call,' Father Dominic said. 'But I see what you mean…it's quite all right if you don't want to – '

'Are you kidding?' CeeCee trilled. 'Of course we're in!'

'CeeCee,' I glared. 'It's dangerous for you. I don't want you two risking your lives for what we do.'

She snorted. 'Hypocrite.'

'She's got a point,' Paul said.

Adam grinned goofily. 'No, we're both definitely in. As terrifying and as…_perilous_ as the SIA's work is, it has purpose, you know?' he looked imploringly at CeeCee and I. 'I've never had purpose before…except to be an ass.'

'You and Paul have a lot in common,' I noted.

'I'm in,' Paul nodded, ignoring me. Father D looked overjoyed. This probably _was_ his only excitement in his old age. 'Susannah?'

I shrugged. '…What the hell. I'm in too.'

'Excellent,' Father Dom clapped his holy hands happily.

'The SIA will rise again!' Adam said triumphantly. 'Ghosts of the world, beware! Our secret weapon Suze will give you a scare!'

I didn't believe that the SIA would see the light of day after the first job. But I guess I wasn't the only one in the group who truly believed that beyond the hardships, the SIA could have the potential to do some really wonderful work.

…And I was a big part of that.

- 8 -

_So that's the tale of me. Susannah Simon. The mediator. The shifter. The girl who finally grew up. Who trusted her instincts, who found her strength, who rekindled her sense of self, who learned to trust again…_

_That's my story. That's my lesson._

_And dealing with the dead?_

_That's my life._

**The End.**


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